


L'Histoire Française

by danfanciesphil (thejigsawtimess)



Series: L'Histoire Française [1]
Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Teachers, Bad French, Drinking, History Teacher Phil, M/M, Paris (City), Sexual Tension, Slow Burn, Teaching Assistant Dan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-06
Updated: 2018-02-07
Packaged: 2019-02-11 09:15:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 105,595
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12932178
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thejigsawtimess/pseuds/danfanciesphil
Summary: Since he can remember, Dan has had a bad experience with teachers. When desperate times call for him to take a job as a TA at his local secondary school, he is dreading the experience. Cue Phil Lester: eclectic, vivacious History teacher whom the students and teachers adore for his fantastical, unique methods and sincere passion for his job. Dan was expecting all sorts of drama in his new job, but falling for a member of the faculty was not part of it.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi all! 
> 
> Before you begin, I just want to let you all know that as this fic features some French, I have taken the liberty of translating each chapter to help you follow along in case you need it! I have linked the French translation at the top of every chapter (unless there's no French in the chapter, obviously) so I recommend having that open in another tab to help you! 
> 
> Also, I have posted this fic both here and on tumblr! Please, if you enjoy it, consider heading over and reblogging/liking it as it really helps me reach a bigger audience! 
> 
> Other than that, I hope you like the story.
> 
> Love to you all,  
> Ellen
> 
> Tumblr: danfanciesphil.tumblr.com  
> ***
> 
> UPDATE!
> 
> For some wild reason, several people have submitted artwork for this fic, so please go and check it out! It's all amazing and I'm honoured. 
> 
> danfanciesphil.tumblr.com/tagged/teacher_au_art
> 
> ANOTHER UPDATE!
> 
> I made a playlist for this fic! Check it out for extra feels!
> 
> http://danfanciesphil.tumblr.com/post/170358536885/lhistoire-fran%C3%A7aise-fic-playlist

It had never been Dan’s first choice, career-wise. 

As a matter of fact, throughout his university years, he’d always looked upon his graduate friends with scorn if they’d gone into predictable, un-specialist jobs like marketing or real estate - things that have nothing to do with the degrees they spent three or four years obtaining. 

But then university had ended, and Dan had been thrown, quite unprepared, into the cutthroat world of job-seeking. 

He’d tried, of course, to find jobs in his field, but as it turns out, there aren’t many people in need of sociology majors nowadays. He’d flirted with the idea of doing a masters course, but that shit is expensive, and by the time he’d gotten around to considering applications, the deadline had already passed. 

So, he’s twenty-two, fresh out of Manchester University, all but still clutching his freshers-week wristband, with no prospects whatsoever, and a rapidly depleting bank account. With his rent deadline looming over closer, he decides to just suck it up and look on his university’s ‘graduate scheme’ page. 

Marketing is definitely out, as Dan can’t stand the way people in those jobs talk. The idea of driving the young, naiive hopefuls that he once was around to different shitty flats and house shares in a company Fiat, lying through his teeth to persuade them to part with their maintenance loans for a damp-riddled, cockroach-infested prison cell is also too much to bear. 

So, with reluctance, Dan starts looking through the adverts for the one job he thinks he can just about handle, and that might have a chance of taking him on:

Teaching Assistant. 

Low pay, early mornings, and screaming adolescents five days a week. The idea of it is not appealing. 

Nevertheless, he diligently sends out his CV and some cover letters to local secondary schools, then quickly closes all tabs pertaining to it in order to watch some  _Stranger Things_. 

The following morning, he wakes up to an email inviting him for an interview. 

*

Four months of training, a fuck ton of reading manuals, health and safety guides, curriculums and other such palava, Dan finds himself being led down an eerily empty school corridor towards his first actual class. 

Even the tapping of his shoes against the shiny linoleum floor of this place is beginning to bring back horrible high-school memories. He shudders, asking himself for the umpteenth time why the fuck he ever took this stupid job. 

 _Think of the money,_ he tells himself.

“…so don’t expect the students to be too enthused.” Vice Principal Green finishes, briskly striding along just ahead of Dan. 

“I’m sorry?” Dan asks.

Vice Principal Green looks over his shoulder. “I was just saying that as it’s the first day back, the students will likely be a little more… sluggish than usual.”

“Oh.” 

“Don’t worry!” Vice Principal Green says brightly, his cheeks rosy as he gives Dan a broad smile. “I’m sure you and Mr Lester will get them back into their regular rhythms soon enough!” 

“Yeah,” Dan says, smiling back. He doesn’t add that the idea of motivating a shit-ton of sullen teenagers to do schoolwork after a month and a half of fucking around all summer is petrifying. “Mr Lester? Is that-”

“That’s who you’ll be assisting for your first lesson, yes.” VP Green says, coming to a halt outside a door marked ‘Classroom 9′. “He’s been a history professor here for two years now. You’re in luck, as he’s an excellent teacher, and particularly popular amongst the students. It’s always much harder for the TA’s if the teacher is incompetent or disliked.” 

“Oh…” Dan says, feeling his stomach quiver. “Well, that’s… good, I guess.” 

“Yes, there’s no better person to get your bearings with, I assure you.” 

Dan nods, eyeing the closed door in front of them with a modicum of fear. Behind it is a class of twenty-six Year Nine students, all of whom he is going to have to help this ‘Mr Lester’ to control. 

Dan’s never liked teenagers anyway. He didn’t even like being one. 

Why the hell did he take this job?

“Well then, unless you have any more questions, it’s almost nine o’clock.” VP Green says, glancing at the watch on his wrist. “Ready to be thrown to the lions?”

Dan laughs politely, but it comes out sounding nervous and weak. Embarrassingly, VP Green places a reassuring hand on Dan’s shoulder, smiling that broad smile again. 

“Brave face, Daniel!” VP Green says. “Or should I say,  _Mr Howell_.” 

Dan swallows, hating the sound of that already. “Right.” 

Then, VP Green is removing his hand and opening the door in front of them. 

There’s a hum of chatter amongst the students as they converse excitedly about their summers, catching up with one another after the long break. They’re sat in pairs, two to a table, though they lean across chairs and kneel beside one another in order to be able to speak with their friends. 

Just as Dan remembers it, the faint scent of Lynx body spray and that suffocating girly equivalent hovers in the air. Apart from the fact that the girls in this class seem to have Cara Delevigne eyebrows painted onto their faces, and the boys are all sporting that haircut with the shaved sides and the quiff, Dan imagines he could be walking into his own class back in Reading.

War flashbacks attack him from all sides. 

“Ah, Mr Lester,” VP Green bellows, grinning widely. “Glad to see you’ve survived the long break!” 

Dan turns his head, watching VP Green stride from the door towards the front of the classroom, over towards a wooden desk in the corner, beside which stands a tall young man in a red and black checkered shirt. 

The young man grins back, placing the papers back down upon his desk as he shakes the outstretched hand extended towards him by the Vice Principal. 

“Hah, I thought about running off and never returning, but alas-” he places a dramatic hand over his heart, gazing out at the uninterested teenagers before him. “Their thirst for knowledge is a siren call.” 

VP Green laughs heartily, clapping him on the shoulder. 

Dan just blinks in astonishment at the display. This man surely cannot be the famed ‘Mr Lester’ that was described to him a few minutes ago. 

For a start, the guy looks to be about Dan’s age. Perhaps a little older, as it’s difficult to tell with young men in their twenties, but definitely not by much. Also, he’s… attractive. 

Never once in all of Dan’s years of education has he ever felt anything more than a mild appreciation for his teachers or professors. Most of the time, he actually loathes them. 

To find one of the various downtrodden, weary, moody people Dan has had teaching him over the years  _attractive_  is something so alien to him that he can barely begin to comprehend it. 

But here is Mr Lester, looking like a damn snack in his short sleeved plaid, his thick-rimmed, scene-y glasses, and his actual goddamn skinny jeans. Dan has no idea how to respond. 

“Who’s the lanky nonce gawping at Mr Lester, sir?” A boy at the back of the class shouts, hauling Dan out of his inappropriate thoughts at once. 

Both VP Green and Mr Lester turn to the door, still smiling. 

“Ah, yes.” VP Green says, remembering Dan at last. “Everyone, take your seats now, that’s it. I’m going to introduce to you our newest Teaching Assistant, Mister Howell.” 

Dan gives the class an awkward wave. “Hi.” 

“Good morning, Mister Howell.” The class sings in one, unified, monotone.

It’s unexpected, and Dan stands like a lemon for a moment, dumbed by the strange, cult-like chant. 

“Um, g-good morning.” 

“Hey, knock it off you lot.” Mr Lester says around a wry smile. “He knows this isn’t Primary School. No more teasing the new TA on his first day, alright?” 

The class chuckles, and Phil grins at them all, shaking his head in mock-disapproval. His tongue peeks through the thin gap between his two rows of teeth as he smiles; Dan instantly melts at the sight of this. 

“Right, well I’ll be leaving you in Mr Lester’s capable hands,” VP Green says to Dan, clapping him once on the shoulder. He glances at Mr Lester apologetically. “Sorry, but I must run - first day back and everything. A thousand things to do. Are you alright to introduce yourselves?” 

“No problem,” Mr Lester says brightly. He places his hand on Dan’s upper back. “I’ll take care of him.” 

VP Green nods, smiling at them both before walking to the door. He waves to the class, none of whom seem to notice, and then disappears into the hall, closing the door behind him. 

Dan swallows, realising that now he is truly on his own. Well, apart from Mr Lester, that is. 

Gathering himself, Dan turns to shake Mr Lester’s hand. He has warm, large hands, which are surprisingly soft to the touch. He draws his own hand away quickly, cheeks warming as he realises what a weirdo he’s being for even noticing something like that. 

“Hey,” Mr Lester says, quieter now, so the kids won’t hear. “I’m Phil. Welcome to the Algerian War.” 

“Cool, I’m Dan- wait, what?” 

Phil just grins enigmatically, then spins on his heel to face the front of the class. 

“Right gang! We’ve got an hour.” Phil says, clapping his hands together. “You know the drill, get the tables out of the way, c’mon.” 

“Um…” Dan stutters. “Sorry, what is happening right now?” 

Phil laughs at Dan’s bewildered expression as the students hop animatedly out of their seats. Scraping sounds fill the air as they push their tables and chairs to the edges of the room, leaving a huge space in the centre.

“You’ll see,” Phil says, whispering it into Dan’s ear. 

Not realising Phil had gotten that close, Dan shudders, somewhat embarrassingly. He can smell the toothpaste Phil must have brushed his teeth with this morning on his breath. 

Oblivious to Dan’s reaction - thank God - Phil turns his attention back to the class. “Okay, yeah, but let’s use the tables to make two sets of barricades- yep one on either side of the room. That’s it, Jonah! Yeah, stack ‘em up Katie! Why not?“

“I’m not sure they covered this in training…” Dan says as Phil walks boldly into the space created in the centre, surveying the work of the students. 

“Looks good guys!” Phil says, ignoring Dan entirely now. “Let’s get these barricades up quickly.  _Do you hear the people sing_ …?”

The students groan at the sound of Phil’s off-key singing, and Dan barks a laugh, unable to believe that Mr Lester, supposed genius history teacher, just launched into the chorus of a Les Misérables song in the middle of class. 

Phil turns to face him then, grinning happily. “Get involved, Mr Howell!” He urges, walking over to grab Dan by the arm. “Are you my TA or not?”

“Well, yeah but… what do you want me to do?” 

“Are you deaf? We’re making our barricades!” 

So, not knowing how else to proceed, Dan obediently begins helping a nearby bunch of thirteen to fourteen year olds stack the tables and chairs until they have made a pretty impressive (and moderately safe) barricade. 

“Okay!” Phil cries in a surprisingly loud, deep voice. “Right, if you’re born in the months of July to December, get on the right side of the room. If you’re born from January to June, left side.” 

Dan stays on the left as instructed, listening in wonder to whatever this peculiar, charismatic man is about to say. 

“So, the Algerian war.” Phil says, hands on his hips. “Who knows what it was about?” 

A hush falls over the classroom. Dan has to admit, even he has no clue on this one. 

“Who knows when it was?” Phil asks.

Again, he is met with silence.

“Where it was fought?” 

Phil waits, sweeping his laser-blue eyes over the blank faces. He lands on Dan, smirking. “Mr Howell? Any ideas on this one?” 

Absurdly, Dan blushes, feeling as though he’s just been singled out by one of his own teachers. He reminds himself that this is merely a replica of a traumatic time, and that he is actually in charge here, with Phil. He and Phil are - supposedly - on the same team. 

Nevertheless, he doesn’t know the answer. 

For some reason though, he decides to give it a shot. “Uh, Algeria?”

The class titters, and Phil smiles. “Good work, Mr Howell. Gold star.”

Just before Phil turns away, Dan swears he sees him wink. 

“See?” Phil asks the others. “Not all my questions are designed to trick you.” 

Over the next few minutes, Phil uses a variety of bizarre techniques to supply the class with the answers to the questions he just posed - including a game of charades, a session of mime, an actual interpretive dance, and signing. 

He is theatrical in his movements, and seems to be well aware that the class is laughing at him as he clumsily acts out the French revolution of May 1968, using every mildly offensive French stereotype in the book in order to do it. 

He laughs along with the rest of them, apparently more than happy to be the butt of their teenage jokes as long as the answer comes out eventually. Dan watches his unusual technique in amazement, finding that even he is learning, without really meaning to, as well as laughing along, enjoying himself with the others. 

Eventually, Phil moves to the front of the class, standing on his desk. He throws his arms wide, letting the groans and ‘ _sir, what’re you doin’ mate_ ’ comments bounce off his chest. 

“Right!” Phil announces. “The year is 1954! It is time for the war to commence!” 

Dan raises an eyebrow, smirking at the display. 

“Those of you on the left are the Algerian natives fighting for independence from the French colony!” Phil declares, gesturing at Dan and his troop of thirteen year olds. He catches Dan’s eye, smiling mischievously. “And those of you on the right are the French military, determined to stop this uprising before it becomes outright anarchy!” 

“Wait,” Dan says, “we’re not actually gonna-”

“Trois, deux, un… fight!” Phil cries, jumping down from his desk as an unholy roar erupts throughout the class. 

To Dan’s utter horror, the students run at each other from opposing sides, their fingers becoming guns, their rulers and pencils transforming into knives and swords. 

Phil sidles over to him, nudging him in the side. “Why are you waiting on the sidelines, Dan? You’re letting the Algerians down!” 

Dan cannot speak. He watches as the students wrestle each other to the ground, fake-throttling one another, pretending to stab and wound and maim. 

Every single one of them is immersed in the imaginary bloodshed, their school-kid personalities gone for the time being. For now, Dan realises, each of these children is a soldier in the Algerian war. 

“This is amazing.” Dan can’t help saying. 

He shakes his head, marvelling as he watches a ‘French militant’ straddle a wounded ‘Algerian’, pinning her to the floor. She struggles against her oppressor’s grip in vain. 

“How dare you steal our land and our produce!” The ‘Algerian’ girl cries bitterly. “The Islamic people of Algeria were peaceful until you came and colonised us you fucking French frogs!” 

“Silence, citizen!” The ‘French militant’ snarls. “We dragged your sorry excuse for a country out of the depths of poverty! What use will this insubordination bring you? Do you know how many would die to be French?” 

The ‘Algerian’ girl spits at him. “Good for them! Because I’d rather die than become French!” 

“Then die you shall!” 

He mimes stabbing the ‘Algerian’ girl through the heart. She chokes, then falls silent, her head lolling to the side. Dan wants to give the two of them a round of applause. 

“They get really into it.” Phil muses happily, still beside Dan. “History is so much more exciting when you can really put yourself in the shoes of the people involved. That’s what I find, anyway.” 

Dan turns to Phil, feeling pretty dazed by him at this point. The azure blue of his eyes locks onto Dan’s, drowning him in skies and oceans and bubblegum ice cream. 

“You’re not like any teacher I’ve ever met.” Dan says quietly, a little dizzy still. 

The shrieks and clatters of the warring teenagers still echoes around the room, creating a strange, lively atmosphere. 

“In a good way?” 

Dan considers this. If he’d had a history teacher as cool and exciting as Phil when he was in school, he almost definitely would have learned substantially more than he did. Either that, or he’d know a lot less, because there’s an equally good chance he’d spend every history lesson staring at, and fantasising about, his hot teacher.

“Definitely a good way.” Dan answers,

Phil smirks, and Dan almost collapses at the sight of it. “That’s good.” 

“Why is that good?” 

Phil chuckles lowly. He takes a step closer to Dan, making his lungs seize up. 

“Think I might get jealous if you had a different favourite teacher to work with.” 

Dan swallows, trying very, very hard to see this obvious flirtation as something entirely platonic. 

“Well… it’s only my first lesson on my first day.” Dan says, sounding bolder than he feels. “I’ve got classes with plenty of other teachers yet.”

Phil nods, running his gaze quickly up and down Dan’s body. “I see, so you’re not picking favourites just yet?”

Dan grins at him. “Not yet.”

“Hm,” Phil nods, turning away with a smirk. All of a sudden, the bell rings. “Alright everyone, cease fire! Time to head to your next classes. Let’s get these tables back in order before we leave, shall we?”

“Wait!” A long, dark haired girl interrupts, indignant. “Sir, who won the war? Don’t leave us hanging!” 

“Ah,” Phil grins. “An excellent question, the answer to which…” He pauses dramatically. “I will be saving for next class!” 

There’s an enormous, collective groan. Dan marvels at it, wondering if he’s ever groaned in frustration at a class being cut short before. 

The students chatter animatedly as they restore order to the classroom, and Dan helps them get everything back into place. At last, they’re all filing out of the door towards their next lessons, and Dan breathes a sigh of exhaustion.

He turns to Phil, feeling a little nervous at the prospect of being alone with him. 

“Okay, well it was good to meet you.” Dan says, suddenly a polite, nervous wreck. 

Phil laughs at him, but walks over and smiles, reaching out his hand. “You too, Dan.” They shake hands, but this time Dan doesn’t let go quite as fast. “Thank you for putting up with all the madness. You actually coped pretty well! I’m impressed. Most TA’s take a while to warm up to my… methods.” 

“I’m not most TA’s.” Dan says, meaning it as a joke. 

Phil regards him with a tilted head, still smiling. “No, I get the sense you’re not.” 

Dan coughs, reddening. “Well, I should get to my next class.”

“See you in 1962?” 

“Hah,” Dan responds, “yeah.”

He turns to leave, desperately floundering for some sort of witty, charming and flirtatious remark to leave Phil with.

“Oh, Dan?” Phil asks, and Dan whirls to face him, a little too eagerly perhaps. 

“Yep?” 

“Keep me updated on your list of favourite teachers, yeah?” 

Dan smiles, nodding. “Afraid you’ve got some competition in this school?”

“Mrs Laughton might be sixty-three and have a permanent scowl tattooed onto her face, but she’s got a certain… je ne sais quoi.” Phil says, leaning back onto his desk. He gives Dan a wink. “She could steal your top spot.” 

“I don’t think you have anything to worry about.” Dan tells him honestly. Phil smiles broadly, a glimmer of something caught in the crystal blue of his eye.

Then, because he’s embarrassed, Dan ducks out of the room. 

Needless to say, every single one of his other classes that day seems spectacularly dull. He finds himself thinking about Phil throughout most of them anyway, barely able to focus on what the teachers are saying. 

The bell rings for lunch, at last, and Dan breathes a sigh of relief, heading down to the staffroom. He’s boiling the kettle for a much needed cup of coffee when he feels a presence beside him. Startled, he looks up, straight into the blue eyes of Phil Lester. 

“So?” Phil asks, smiling cheekily. “Any new contenders for Dan’s favourite teacher?”

Dan smiles, feeling his cheeks glow with warmth. He shrugs, attempting to be enigmatic as he pours the boiling water into his mug. 

“Maybe.” 

“Ooh, mysterious.” Phil says, catching on. “Keep me guessing. I like it.”

Dan coughs, his blush deepening. “It takes a lot to impress me, I’ll have you know.” 

“Hmm, interesting.” Phil says, watching Dan pour the milk into his mug. “Maybe I’ll have to introduce a new topic next week. Something more stimulating than the Algerian war.”

Dan raises an eyebrow at him. “Oh? Just for me?”

“I think you underestimate my commitment to being top of your favourite teacher list.” 

“So what topic could you introduce to peak my interest?” Dan asks, smirking. 

Without a word, Phil plucks the coffee mug from Dan’s hand and takes a sip, never breaking eye contact. “Well, around the time of the Algerian war, France was going through a kind of …decadent phase, liberally speaking.”

“Decadent?” Dan echoes, preoccupied with watching how Phil’s lips curl around the rim of the mug. 

“The lefties were chagrinned about all the censorship laws and the capitalist infrastructure of the Fifth Republic, so they acted out.” Phil explains, handing Dan his coffee back. “They made saucy films, wrote erotic novels, cavorted with each other as much as possible.” 

“I’m not sure that’s classroom appropriate, Phil.” Dan laughs, feeling the butterflies begin to burst from their chrysalis’ in his belly. 

“Yeah, you’re prob’ly right.” Phil agrees, eyes dragging over Dan’s body again. 

Dan blushes, sipping his coffee and nodding. Phil stands up straight, as if he’s about to leave. Just before he does, he leans in close to Dan, their faces dangerously close. 

“Maybe we should save that lesson for after class.” 

Before Dan can respond, Phil has drifted away, already immersed in conversation with Mrs Laughton, a geography teacher. 

For fuck’s sake, Dan thinks, trying to will his brain to calm down after that unexpected comment, he absolutely cannot let himself get involved with a teacher. 

No matter how intimidatingly hot and amazing he is. 

Dan watches Phil talk animatedly at the sour-faced Mrs Laughton, and realises belatedly that he’s actually biting his lip. Fuck. This is going to be one frustrating year. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Hope you’re in the mood for some dress up.” 
> 
> Dan watches Phil leave, mouth falling open. To the almost empty staffroom, he asks, “Dress up?”

Two days pass before Dan gets to assist in Phil’s class again. 

It turns out that there are a lot of teachers in this school, all of whom are keen for ‘assistance’ (which, Dan has discovered, just means that they want someone to do all the hard work for them while they check Facebook at their desk). 

Dan doesn’t mind the other teachers, and generally the hour long lessons pass pretty quickly. All he has to do is wander around the desks as the students do worksheets or write essays, and answer their questions. 

It’s far from exciting, and aside from one or two occasions where the teacher might ask him to write something on the whiteboard, or divide the class into groups, it’s a pretty monotonous job. 

The teachers lack enthusiasm, despite it only being the first week back. There’s just something in their eyes - a kind of worn down expression that Dan recognises from his own past teachers. 

That look hadn’t been in Phil’s eyes, Dan can’t help but remember. 

On Tuesday, Dan’s second day, he is helping Jonah, a sullen, troublesome student in a Year Nine Maths class. He’s probably not being that much of a help to the poor boy, as Dan barely scraped a C on his own Maths GCSE exam. Still, he’s trying his best to explain the quadratic formula, when all of a sudden, Jonah looks up at him and grins.

“Hey, you’re the dude from Mr Lester’s class,” he says, brightening immediately.

Dan looks at him in surprise. “Oh, yeah. That’s me.”

“You helped us build the barricades.” 

Dan chuckles, remembering this strange activity. “Yeah. That was… interesting.” 

“Man, I wish every class was like that.” Jonah sighs, slumping in his plastic chair. “Mr Lester’s actually decent.” 

Intrigued by this, Dan can’t help wanting to probe a little further. He takes the empty seat beside Jonah, forgetting the Algebra problems on the desk for a moment. 

“You like his class?” 

Dan’s only been here for two days, but it’s already become fairly obvious who the ‘troubled’ students are at this school. Before each class, Dan is notified by the teacher about any students that are ‘on report’. It’s still only the second day of term, so there are only a couple in the whole school, currently. 

Jonah Frank is one of them. 

Being ‘on report’ is like being on probation. It’s a form of punishment for bad behaviour, wherein the student has their work ethic and general attitude monitored for a period of one month. If their reports are generally good, then they can come off the probation period. If they’re bad, the student will face a harsher punishment - often suspension from the school. 

Jonah has to get a report card signed by his teacher at the end of every lesson, and at the end of each day, the Principal will check it over to ensure he’s been to, and behaved in, all his classes that day. 

Dan has seen Jonah’s report card from last year as well as this year, and it’s not pretty. The teachers often write angry comments beneath their signatures like ‘refused to cooperate!’ or ‘talked back during class’. As Dan was reading over them, he couldn’t help noticing that one of the signatures - a particularly squiggly one - differentiated from the rest. 

_11/04/2016_  
History  
Phil Lester  
‘Jonah was brilliant today! Asked bright, insightful questions and got involved in the class. :)’

 _24/04/2016_  
History  
Phil Lester  
‘Had a catch up with Jonah about how challenging he’s finding the class. Upon his suggestion, agreed to schedule some one on one sessions during break times to go over some of the more complicated facts. A great idea!’  


_03/05/2016_  
History  
Phil Lester  
‘Awarded Jonah an A for his brilliant project on the Romans! Can tell he really applied himself.’

 

“Yeah, he’s alright.” Jonah says, nodding. “He ain’t like the other teachers at this shit school.”

“He’s certainly… got a unique method.” Dan muses, remembering the whimsical nature of Phil’s lesson yesterday. 

It’s only when Jonah chuckles that Dan realises he’s staring into the distance. 

“You got a crush on him, sir?” 

Traitorously, Dan feels himself blush. “What? Come off it, I barely know him.” 

Jonah grins wider, obviously not buying this for a second. “You got a thing for nerdy, history buff-types, Mr Howell?” 

“Okay,” Dan says, rolling his eyes. “Let’s get back to work, shall we?” 

Jonah laughs, but reluctantly sits up, sighing as he turns his attention back to the Maths worksheet. “Mr Lester’d never give us worksheets.” 

Dan sighs with him, nodding in agreement. “Unfortunately, Mr Lester is not teaching this Maths class.”

Jonah side-eyes him, smirking knowingly. “Bet you’d like it if he was though, yeah?” 

Dan smiles good-naturedly, shaking his head. “Alright, simmer down and find ‘x’, you.” 

*

The teachers at this school are, Dan is beginning to find, prone to taking the piss. A lot of them seem to regard TA’s as a form of slave, and don’t hesitate to offload all their crummiest, most time-consuming jobs on to him. Of course, this often means that Dan is forced to eat into his own free time to complete these menial tasks, and so he finds he rarely has a moment to spare.  

On Tuesday lunchtime, after forty-five minutes of scrubbing whiteboards and sweeping up debris in the science labs, Dan hurries to the cafeteria to try and grab something to eat before it closes. As he walks in, he notices that Phil is here too, holding a large box full of what looks like old-fashioned Sony Walkmans, and some rolls of glittery craft paper. 

“Oh no, you caught me!” Phil exclaims, sounding sheepish as Dan approaches him. “My sweet tooth has a hold over me.” 

He holds up the cookie he’s just purchased with some difficulty, almost dropping the box he’s holding.  

“Hey, no judgement.” Dan replies. “Looks like a good cookie.”

Phil groans in agreement, his eyes shooting heavenward. An immediate slice of arousal swoops through Dan’s empty stomach, and he swallows hard, turning away in the hopes it isn’t obvious. 

“Oh, you have no idea, Dan.” Phil tells him, his voice low and sincere. Then, smirking, he lifts the cookie for Dan to bite. “Try it. Vera, the cook here, she’s like  _Bake-Off_  level genius.” 

Not knowing how to refuse the strange request without offending Phil, Dan leans in and takes a small bite of the cookie, very aware that they are currently standing in the middle of the cafeteria. There aren’t many students in here anymore, and nobody seems to be paying much attention to them anyway, but still. Who knows what people might think. 

Not that there’s anything inherently wrong with a teacher sharing his baked goods with a TA, Dan supposes. It doesn’t explain why his cheeks are burning as he leans away, however. 

“Wow,” Dan says in surprise. “You’re right, that’s amazing. What is that, maple syrup?”

“I don’t know,” Phil sighs, taking an enormous bite of the cookie. “But I’m helpless to resist.” Somehow, he manages to sound adorable even around a mouthful of cookie crumbs. “Anyway, I’ve got to set up for my next class, so gotta run.”

Phil shakes the box of items at him, smiling widely.

“Oh, yeah, okay.” Dan says with a forced smile, trying not to let his disappointment show through. “See you later.”

“Yeah!” Phil replies enthusiastically, shoving the cookie into his mouth to hold it between his teeth. 

He waves as he exits the canteen, the large box in his hands jostling precariously as he walks briskly out of the door. A few seconds later, the bell rings, signalling the end of lunch. Dan sighs, chastising himself for getting too caught up in conversation with Phil to actually purchase any food.

He tastes maple syrup for the rest of the day.

*

It’s 8:37am on Thursday, and Dan is drinking coffee in the staff room. He’s still getting used to being up this early, but is finding that getting to school half an hour before the day begins and having a coffee greatly helps him get through the morning. 

He’s staring down at his timetable, eyes fixing themselves to the third period lesson, which is marked: 

**11:00  
** Year Eight History   
Mr Lester  
Classroom 9 

The coffee he just made feels hard to swallow, suddenly. 

He wonders what on earth Phil will have in store this time, and whether Dan will be able to immerse himself in the madness to Phil’s satisfaction like he had on Monday. 

It’s as he’s wondering this, lost in his own half-awake fantasy of what wild, innovative teaching techniques Phil might whip out in two hours time, that someone sits down beside him on the sofa. 

“Hey!” 

Dan looks up, startled, to find Phil grinning at him. 

“Oh, hey,” Dan says, his first words of the morning getting a little stuck under his own tongue. “How’re you?”

“You’re in my class again today!” Phil announces happily, ignoring Dan’s question. “Finally, I have another chance to impress you with my teaching skills.” 

Dan chuckles, reaching forwards to place his coffee down on the table in front of them. Phil leans with him, and immediately picks the mug back up, taking a sip. 

Dan rolls his eyes, but smiles to himself. Apparently he and Phil are already well past the food and drink sharing stage of their friendship. 

“I hope you’ve got some good material lined up.” 

“Why? Have I got competition for top of your faves list?” 

Dan sucks a breath in through his teeth, nodding grimly. “Fraid so, Phil. Have you  _seen_ whatMr Rotterdam can do with a bunsen burner?” 

“Damn!” Phil says, leaning back against the sofa cushions. “I should’ve known fire would win you over.” 

Dan shrugs, smirking at him. Phil takes another sip of the coffee, smiling back amusedly. 

He looks radiant this morning, somehow. Whilst Dan is pretty sure he looks like he rolled out of bed, fought his way through the blistering cold to the bus stop, and stood sandwiched between musty-smelling old ladies for an hour on the bus (spoiler: he did), Phil looks like a fresh daisy just peeking out in springtime. 

“How’re you so chipper?” Dan can’t help but ask him, stealing the coffee mug back from Phil’s hands. He tries not to think too much about the way his fingers slip over Phil’s as he does it. “It’s too early for pep.” 

Phil laughs, shrugging at him. “I wake up like this.” 

“Alright, Beyoncé.” Dan says sarcastically, rolling his eyes as he gulps more coffee. 

Phil laughs again, the loud sound of it filling the dull, barren staffroom with life and colour. 

“I dunno, I like the mornings.” Phil tells him. “They hold promise.” 

“Mornings are for being in bed.” 

“You can do that on the weekends.” Phil says.

“Oh, trust me, I do.”

“Maybe I should spend a weekend morning with you, then.” 

Dan chokes a little on his mouthful of coffee, and Phil laughs at him. “Anyway, I’d better go get ready for my first class.” 

“R-right,” Dan manages, trying not to make it too obvious that he’s shaking as he sets his mug down again. “See you in a bit, then.”

Phil smiles at him for a moment, running his eyes over Dan’s face, like he’s searching it for something. Then, he squeezes Dan’s arm, and hops up off the sofa. 

“Hope you’re in the mood for some dress up.” Phil says enigmatically, giving Dan a wink as he turns to go. “See you in a couple of hours!” 

Dan watches him leave, mouth falling open. To the almost empty staffroom, he asks: “Dress up?”

*

The wait for 11am is agonising. Time seems to drag during Dan’s first two lessons, and then there’s a break-time for twenty minutes, the whole of which Dan spends trying to stop himself from arriving early at Phil’s classroom door. 

Five minutes before the bell rings, Dan gives in to his own desire, and heads for Classroom 9. The door is slightly ajar, so Dan knocks politely, then pushes it open, peering his head round. 

“Uh, Phil?”

“Just a sec!” Phil cries from the depths of the room. 

He’s standing on a group of tables that he’s pushed together in the centre of the classroom. On top of the midst of the tables he’s placed a chair, which he is covering in glittery gold material. 

There’s a papier-mâché crown on his head, painted glittery gold, with several plastic jewels glued on. He’s also wearing what appears to be a velvet cape around his shoulders.

Once the gold material is covering the chair to Phil’s satisfaction, he turns to Dan, smiling proudly. “Oh, hey!” 

He jumps down from the table and jogs over to the door, his cloak billowing out behind him. Dan can’t take his eyes off the crown Phil is wearing. Oddly, it doesn’t seem out of place. 

“Uh, should I bow or something?” 

“Bow?” Phil asks, tilting his head to one side. Coincidentally, this makes the crown on his head fall off. Dan catches it before it hits the ground. “Oh! Right, forgot I was wearing it.” 

Phil laughs merrily, like this sort of thing happens all the time. Heck, it probably does. He hands the crown out to Phil, not sure what else to do with it. 

“You should wear the crown for a bit.” Phil tells him, placing it atop Dan’s messy, half-straightened mop before he can blink. He shrugs the cape off his shoulders, wrapping it around Dan. “And the cloak. It’s good for the self-esteem.” 

“Uh-”

“Come on, your majesty.” Phil interrupts, taking Dan by the arm and dragging him into the class. “Time to assist me.”

“What should I do?” 

Phil stops in his tracks to turn and face him, meaning Dan bumps straight into his chest. He apologises, blushing, and takes a step backwards. 

“Whatever I tell you.” Phil answers, smirking. Dan’s heart skips a beat. 

He can feel the thumb of Phil’s right hand start to stroke slightly over the skin of his wrist where he’s holding it. Dan just stares in shock, too stunned to speak. 

Just then, the bell rings, and the first students begin filtering in through the door. Phil releases his wrist gently, and Dan can imagines he can feel the imprints of Phil’s fingers pressed into his skin. 

“Hey, Ben! Hi Victoria, hi Jack! Hey, guys!” Phil says, turning his attention to the students as they enter the room. “How’s it going? How were your summers?” 

The students greet him, reluctant smiles appearing on their faces as they catch sight of Phil’s infectiously happy demeanour. 

Dan watches him with a faint smile, marvelling at the simple way Phil shows that he cares. Little things like Phil knowing all of his students’ names don’t seem important in the grand scheme of their educational experience, but it’s so obvious that it means a lot to them. 

“Everyone grab a chair and gather round the throne I’ve tirelessly crafted over here,” Phil jokes, gesturing to the blanket covered chair mounted on the tables. 

The students chatter excitedly as they do this, and eventually they’re all sitting down, gazing up at the ‘throne’ as instructed. Dan stands to the side, happy to watch until Phil needs him.

“Okay!” Phil cries, clapping his hands. He hoists himself up onto the table on which the ‘throne’ stands, sitting there with his legs dangling. “Welcome back everyone! In case you had amnesia over the summer, I’m Mr Lester, renowned for my iconic dad-puns and Hulk-like muscles, obviously.” 

The class, including Dan, all laugh; Phil catches Dan’s eye, smiling a little wider.

“And this cool cat over here is Mr Howell, my new Teaching Assistant.” Phil says, throwing a dramatic hand towards where Dan stands; the entire class turn to gawp at him. “Say hi, Mr Howell.”

“Hey!” Dan says, waving at all the curious faces. He tries to suppress his awkwardness, giving them a small wave. “Nice to meet you all.”

“As you can see, Mr Howell is a member of royalty.” Phil says, chuckling. “So maybe we should address him as Lord Howellington for this class.” 

The class laugh heartily, and Dan’s brow creases in confusion. Then, he remembers the crown and cape. He blushes slightly, glaring at Phil as he removes the crown from his head. 

“Mr Lester thinks he’s hilarious and decided to let me forget I was still wearing this.” Dan admonishes, shaking his head with a smile. “Please do not learn from his terrible behaviour.”

“Are you telling my class not to learn from their teacher, Mr Howell?”

Dan smirks at him. “Of course not, Mr Lester. Please continue with your lesson.”

Phil chuckles, turning back to the class. “Okay then! So, who can guess, based on Lord Howellington’s stunning outfit, what we’re learning about this term?” 

A couple of students raise their hands. Phil points at a girl in the back of the class, smiling encouragingly. “Jessica?” 

“Kings and Queens?” She asks timidly. 

“Yeah!” Phil says, nodding enthusiastically. “Great guess. We’re learning about the Tudors!” Phil turns to Dan, one eyebrow raised. “Mr Howell, could I please have my crown back?” 

Dan resists the urge to roll his eyes, but walks to the front of the class to hand Phil the crown. 

“The cape suits you. You can keep that for now.” Phil tells Dan, winking mischievously. 

Dan chooses not to respond, not trusting himself not to rise to the flirtatious banter in front of a class of twelve year olds. Instead, he sits down on the table beside Phil, wrapping the cloak around himself. 

“Okay,” Phil says, twirling the crown in his hands. “So who knows who the most famous Tudor was?” 

Around half the class stick up their hands. 

“Ben?” Phil asks, nodding at the boy in question. 

“Henry the Eighth?” 

“Yep! Well done.” Phil says, looking proud. “And who was he?”

Over the next few minutes, Phil teases the scant information these kids already know about the Tudors and Henry the Eighth. They seem to know the basics - he was a King of England. He had six wives. He was pretty mean. He became very fat. That sort of thing. 

Then he gives a brief run through of Henry the Eighth’s life, skimming over the details in order to highlight the main facts. His voice is so expressive, and his enthusiasm for the subject so obvious, that Dan finds himself hooked on every word. It helps that Phil is so effortlessly funny, of course, and the class (including Dan) seem to greatly appreciate the terrible puns Phil slips in to his speech. 

“Okay, so here’s the plan, famalam,” Phil says, hopping off the table. “We’re gonna band together and recreate the life of our man of the hour, King Henry the Eighth.” 

The class whisper amongst one another excitedly, bouncing in their seats with anticipation. 

“We’ll start from the beginning, when he was first coronated. Whoever wants to volunteer can sit up in the throne and answer some questions from your loyal subjects.” 

Dan can’t help but smile at the idea; it’s innovative and sounds like great fun. He finds himself looking forward to what’s about to happen as well. 

"So who wants to go first?” Phil asks.  

Almost everybody sticks up their hands. 

“Hah, all of you?!” Phil exclaims. “Okay, I’m gonna close my eyes and pick at random.” He squeezes his eyes shut, waving his index finger around in front of him. It lands on a particularly animated girl in the front row, who squeals excitedly. “Amazing! Shaima is our first King. Hop up to your throne, Your Majesty.”

Phil helps Shaima up to take a seat upon the throne, and places the crown atop her head, being particularly careful about displacing her hijab. 

“Mr Howell?” Phil says, looking over at Dan, one eyebrow raised. 

“Yes?” 

“Our King is going to need his cloak.” 

The class laugh at this, and Dan blushes, not missing the glimmer of mischief in Phil’s eye. 

“Oh!” Dan says, chuckling. “Right.”

He unties the cape and hands it to Phil, who places it around Shaima’s shoulders. 

“Today is June 24th, 1509,” Phil announces then, turning to the rest of the class. “I welcome you all here, to the coronation of our new King on this blessed day.” 

The class laugh, and Shaima grins happily, aiming finger guns at all of her classmates. 

“Now then, who would like to ask our new King some questions?” Phil asks. “Don’t be shy now, he’s prepared to answer any questions his citizens might have.”

A scrawny looking ginger boy raises his hand. Phil turns to Shaima, nodding encouragingly. Smiling eagerly, she points to him. 

“Yes, you.” Shaima says in a posh, haughty voice. “What is it that you wish to ask your new King?”

“How old are you?” The boy asks, chuckling. “Aren’t you a bit young to be King?” 

“Silence, peasant.” Shaima barks, much to the amusement of her classmates. Even Phil chuckles. “I am… um, nineteen?” She turns to look at Phil for confirmation; he nods. “Yes, nineteen years of age! My father, King Henry the Seventh was a mere eight years old when he took the crown. My extra years of preparation are confirmation that I will be the wisest, most revolutionary King of all time!” 

The class continues in much this way, with various students hopping up onto the throne in order to play the role of the King, whilst the rest of the class ‘question’ them. If the person playing Henry VIII doesn’t know an answer, they simply ‘confer with their advisor’ (Phil), before answering. 

It’s a fun, innovative method of learning about this historical figure, and as they work their way through King Henry’s years, the students only become more enthusiastic. Their questions become more complex, to the point where Phil is essentially having to whisper all of the answers into the King’s ear before they are able to reply, but nobody seems to mind.

“Okay, we’re reaching the end of ole Henry’s life now,” Phil says, glancing up at the clock. “Who wants to play the final Henry?”

Dan looks over at the clock too, shocked to see that there are only ten minutes left of this class. Where did this hour go? He sighs moodily, not wanting to think about the Phil-less classes stretching ahead once he leaves this room. 

“You do it, sir!” Someone calls out, and the rest of the class shout their agreement. 

Phil laughs awkwardly, clearly not expecting this. “Nah, come on, I’m rubbish compared to you lot. Let’s get someone else-”

“Please, sir?” Fatimah, the girl who played an excellent Henry during his Anne of Cleaves phase, begs. “We want you to do it!”

Phil sighs, rolling his eyes. “Okay, but just this once.” 

He takes a seat in the throne, and Dan diligently hops up onto the table to place the crown on his head, smirking. Phil sends him a secret, withering look. 

“Right! Make this quick, because I’m dying.” Phil booms in a menacing voice, lounging in the throne. “Who has a question for your Royal Highness?” 

Every student puts up their hand, much to Dan’s surprise. 

“Yes, Callum of Rochester?” 

Callum, a larger boy with rosy cheeks, giggles. “What’re you dyin’ of?”

“Could be the fact I scoff the entire banquet hall at each mealtime…” The class laugh heartily, and Phil sighs. “Could be the gross boils I keep getting, or gout, or possibly scurvy. Honestly, the doctors are baffled.” 

Phil points to a girl with fiery red hair and a smattering of freckles, who raises her hand. 

“Who was your favourite wife, Your Majesty?” 

Phil clutches his heart, looking agonised. “Why, my poor sweet Jane, of course.”

“Jane Seymour?” The red-haired girl asks, tilting her head to the side. “Why was she your favourite?” 

Phil sighs wistfully. “She was true, and fair.” Strangely, he looks over at Dan, catching his eye. “She was demure and sweet, with a smile as warm as candlelight.”

Several students make retching sounds, and Phil drags his eyes from Dan’s to laugh at them all. 

“She also birthed me a son, Edward.” Phil continues. “And she was the only one of my wives whose womb did not betray me. When I die, I will be lain to rest by her side.” 

He sighs dramatically, placing the back of his hand against his forehead. Dan swallows, feeling strange and shivery for some reason. 

“Okay!” Phil cries, sitting up and looking at the clock. “I think that might be all we have time for today.”

The class moan in frustration, sounding disappointed. 

“Wait, can I ask  _you_  a question, sir?” Shaima pipes up, eyes glinting with cheekiness. “Since you’re still in the throne and all.”

Phil laughs a little unsurely, but shrugs. “Uh, sure, okay. What do you want to know, Shaima?” 

“Do you have a Jane?” She asks, sounding a little too hopeful.

Dan hides a smile behind his hand, recognising the look of longing this poor girl wears as she gazes at her favourite teacher. 

Phil laughs, running a hand through his messy hair. “Me? No, unfortunately not. I guess I’ll have to appoint one of you as my heir instead.” 

They all laugh, beginning to scrape their chairs back and gather their things. Phil stands from the throne and hops down off the table; as he passes Dan, his cheeks appear to be tinged a little pink. 

*

Dan wanders by Phil’s classroom after the last bell of the day, trying to seem like he just happened to pass it on his way out. He knocks on the door just as the last students push their way through it, and Phil, stood by his desk, looks up at him. The smile that appears on his face as he sees Dan is so heartwarming that it makes his heart flutter. 

“Forgot your cape?”

Dan chuckles. “I think you pull it off better than I do.” 

“Hey now, don’t be so hard on yourself. I’m sure you can pull off my clothes just fine.” Phil says, winking at him as he throws a handful of coloured pencils into his desk drawer. 

Dan snorts, immediately reddening as he registers the double entendre. “Jeez, you really have everyone fooled with this ‘innocent schoolteacher’ vibe.” 

“If the children only knew of the filth that lies beneath this sweet exterior…” Phil says, grinning. 

Phil reaches underneath his desk and hauls out a backpack, covered in some sort of galaxy print. He slings it onto his shoulder, then walks over to Dan. 

“Did you need something, by the way?” 

Dan realises he’s just standing here, watching Phil get ready to leave like an absolute lemon. He resists the urge to facepalm, blushing. 

“Oh, n-no not really I just…” Dan hesitates, shrugging. “I just wanted to say I was really impressed with your class earlier.”

Phil beams at him. “Yeah?”

“Yeah, Phil honestly…” Dan flounders for a non-cringey way to express his opinion on this. “You probably get this a lot, but the way you teach is kind of revolutionary to me. I mean, I’ve never had a teacher that I actually liked, or that I was excited to learn from. I think it’s really cool how you do this… stuff.”

Dan rolls his eyes at himself internally for being so inept at conveying this sort of thing. But Phil is just looking at him with a big smile, like always, clearly not bothered by Dan’s speech impediment. 

“That means a lot, Dan.” Phil says sincerely. “I’m sorry you never had a teacher you liked.” He starts to inch out of the door, so Dan follows, and Phil flicks off the light. “But hey,” Phil says brightly, leaning a little bit too close as he pulls the classroom door closed behind them. “Now you’ve got me.”

Phil grins, and then he’s walking away, heading down the long corridor towards the school entrance. He spins around once, waving to Dan, and then he’s gone. 

“I wish,” Dan sighs to the empty hall. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “What did we all think of the film, then?” Phil asks, beaming. 
> 
> Jonah snorts loudly. “I couldn’t concentrate on half of it. Kept gettin’ distracted by Mr Lester and Mr Howell flirting in the back!”
> 
> Phil laughs, shooting Jonah a disapproving look. His smile stays in place though. 
> 
> “I’m sure Mr Howell has far better options, Jonah.” Phil teases, and Dan just tries to pretend he’s somewhere else.

It’s Friday evening, finally, and Dan is in his kitchen making pasta, reflecting on the ups and downs of his first week in his new job. He stirs the penne in the saucepan, staring down into the bubbles.

The pasta does not, unsurprisingly, provide him with any insightful comments. 

Being a TA is not as bad as he thought it would be, he eventually concludes, considering everything that’s happened to him at the school so far. The children don’t tease him like he feared they would; mostly they barely even register his existence. The faculty, whilst occasionally irritating or dull, are just normal people for the most part. It’s obvious that none of them are living their dreams, but aside from making them a little snarky, that doesn’t seem to matter to them. 

None of this applies to Phil, of course. 

Dan stops stirring pasta, the tips of his fingers tingling as a wave of admiration sweeps through his body. Phil Lester is an unexpected, but very welcome, perk of this job. 

Dan had never even considered the idea that he might develop a crush when he accepted this position. Teaching has never appealed to him, so he has never found teachers attractive in the past. But, as he mentioned to Phil on his first day, Phil is not like any other teacher that Dan has ever met. 

He switches the hob off, and finds a colander in one of the cupboards. It’s not his, obviously. Dan would never be organised enough to buy a household item as obscure as a  _colander_ , but his housemates won’t mind. Probably. 

He drains his pasta, and scoops it into a bowl, then mixes it with some pesto. He adds some chopped cherry tomatoes and a sprinkle of cheese, then takes the bowl through to his bedroom. 

He’s glad he has the house to himself tonight. His roommates are out on a date together, being an excruciatingly cute couple, as always. 

He blames the exhaustion of first week in a full time job when he climbs onto his bed to eat, opening up his laptop. Facebook is open where he left it this morning, and out of nowhere, Dan gets an idea. 

He pauses mid-chew, wondering if it would be crossing a line. 

Then, before he can think his way out of it, he clicks the search bar and types ‘Phil Lester’. 

A hundred Phil’s pop up at once. Dan scrolls through them, peering at the tiny display pictures, searching for dazzling blue eyes and a mop of jet black hair. 

He’s about to give up, but then he sees it. As soon as he notices Phil’s photo, he wonders how he could have missed it amongst the sea of other Phil Lester imposters. 

He clicks the image, heart speeding up a little. Phil’s profile fills the screen, and Dan’s eyes widen, skimming over the scant information like he’s trying to soak it all up at once. 

##  **Phil Lester  
[Image]**

## Intro:

  *  History Teacher at Rawtenstall Secondary School
  *  Studied History and Philosophy at University of York
  *  Studied French History at Université Paris-Sorbonne 
  *  Lives in Rossendale, Lancashire, United Kingdom
  *  Lived in Paris, France
  *  Lived in York, UK
  *  Lived in Manchester, UK
  *  From Rossendale 
  *  Single



  
His eyes are drawn to the ‘relationship status’ part of his bio before he can stop them. Embarrassingly, he smiles into his pasta, as though it changed anything at all. 

His photo is the most distracting part of the whole page. Dan stares at it as he chews, taking advantage of the opportunity to study Phil’s immaculate face. There’s something different about the photo-Phil, Dan thinks, trying to work it out. Belatedly, he realises that he’s never seen Phil dressed in anything other than a shirt.

The Phil in this picture is wearing a t-shirt in vibrant blue, covered in rows of white stars. There’s a red hemline around the neck and short sleeves too. It looks a bit like he’s low-key cosplaying as Captain America on his off-day, but somehow it suits him. 

The picture-Phil is staring into the camera with that familiar intensity Dan recognises from the times he meets Phil’s gaze in real life. He’s smiling slightly, but it’s nothing compared to the way his beaming fills the classroom. 

He clicks the photo, unable to resist seeing Phil’s face larger on his screen. He really is rather unnervingly attractive, Dan thinks, staring unashamedly at the pixels doing their best to replicate the swirling galaxies of Phil’s blue eyes. 

He shovels more pasta into his mouth, sighing to himself. Just then, his phone buzzes. Reluctantly, Dan drags his eyes away from the screen, fishing it out of his pocket. 

 **18:54  
** Unknown Number  
Hey Dan! This is Phil (Mr Lester)

Dan chokes on a tomato. 

He reaches over to put his bowl of pasta on the bedside table, coughing, and turns back to his phone. Phil’s face continues staring out of his screen, those all-knowing, laser-eyes burrowing into his skull. Dan flushes, feeling caught out, and slams the lid of his laptop closed. 

His phone buzzes again. 

 **18:55  
** Unknown Number  
(the dorky guy who makes you   
wear capes and help children to   
build precarious structures out   
of tables and chairs)

Despite feeling as flustered by this unexpected text as a yanderé schoolgirl encountering her senpai, Dan snorts at the joke. 

Fingers trembling a little, Dan adds Phil’s name to his contacts, and spends around three minutes typing and retyping a response.

 **18:58  
** Dan Howell  
did i forget giving you my number  
in a cringey attempt at gaining   
friends in my new job or something '-.-

 **18:58  
** Phil Lester   
hah! no i actually got it from the   
school office D: 

Dan frowns in confusion. 

 **18:59  
** Dan Howell  
Is that even allowed?

 **19:00  
** Phil Lester   
Not sure. But I’m very charming,  
so it wasn’t an issue ;)

 **19:01  
** Phil Lester   
I told them I wanted to ask you  
something important, related to  
class

Dan’s heart immediately sinks. That makes sense, he supposes, reaching for his pasta again. Phil’s just messaging him to discuss something work-related. Nothing to get excited about, after all. 

He types out a quick response, then places his phone aside, filling the disappointment-void opening inside of him with mouthfuls of pasta. 

 **19:02  
** Dan Howell  
Oh cool. Do you need me to do   
something for Monday’s class?

 **19:03  
** Phil Lester   
I just need to ask you somethng  
in preparation

 **19:03  
** Dan Howell  
Ask away Mr Lester

 **19:04  
** Phil Lester   
Do you think the Year Nine’s will  
laugh at me if I wear this in class  
(Attached: 1 image)

Dan stares at the message, uncomprehending. He scrolls down, laughing in surprise as he sees the photo Phil has included. 

It’s a picture of him, close up, with his chin raised, exposing his neck. Around his shirt collar is a bowtie, white with black polka dots. 

 **19:06  
** Dan Howell  
Without a shadow of a doubt, yes,  
they will laugh at you. Sorry bud. 

 **19:07  
** Phil Lester   
Perfect! Thanks. 

Dan waits expectantly, glancing at his phone every few seconds as he finishes up his pasta. After he’s scraped the bowl clean, he picks the phone up again, wondering vaguely if he’s hallucinating this entire conversation. 

 **19:13  
** Dan Howell  
Is that it???

 **19:14  
** Phil Lester   
Your TA duties are complete. Pls  
feel free to go forth and enjoy your  
weekend, Mr Howell

Dan blinks at the text, very confused. He’s about to shove the phone in his pocket, when another text comes through.

 **19:15  
** Phil Lester   
And enjoy a cool photo of ur new  
favourite teacher, now saved to your  
camera roll free of charge

 **19:16  
** Dan Howell  
How do u know I won’t delete it

 **19:17  
** Phil Lester   
Uh, you’d better not. I don’t hand  
these selfies out to just anyone Daniel

A little thrill shimmers through Dan’s veins at the sight of Phil using his full name. 

 **19:18  
** Dan Howell  
dw I’ve got it as my wallpaper already.  
I might even print it out, frame it for  
my wall

 **19:20  
** Phil Lester   
Beats stalking through my Facebook albums   
I bet ;)

Dan’s heart actually stops for a moment, he’s sure. No, he thinks, feeling cold sweat pearling on his brow. There’s no way Phil could know something like that, surely.

He decides to try laughing it off, still terrified. 

 **19:21  
** Dan Howell  
Pfft as if m8

 **19:22  
** Phil Lester   
tbf if you had stalked me I’d be  
super miffed you didn’t friend  
request me

Dan’s muscles melt of tension, the relief flooding out of his pores. Phil had just been stabbing in the dark with a weirdly accurate aim. 

 **19:23  
** Dan Howell  
aw u wanna be my fb friend? Cute.

Dan opens his laptop again, clicking determinedly off Phil’s profile, feeling his cheeks heat like he’s being watched. He’s just about to click off of Facebook altogether, when he gets a notification. 

_Phil Lester has sent you a friend request!_

Dan blinks at the message, gawping. 

His phone buzzes. 

 **19:26  
** Phil Lester   
yes please

*

Dan spends the weekend wishing for it to end, which is an entirely new experience for him. 

His housemates invite him out for drinks on Saturday night at their local pub. Dan doesn’t bother attempting to refuse; Teddy and Tyler are not the sort of people who can be successfully argued with. 

They fail to mention, however, that they have invited a bunch of other people to join them for drinks, including Stephanie, Dan’s ex-girlfriend. As a result, the evening turns into Dan downing more pints than he is able to handle in order to deal with the glares from the girl he dumped a few months ago. 

At the end of the night, Tyler and Teddy have Dan’s arms over their shoulders, and are merrily singing  _The Phantom of the Opera_  as they drag him home. They take off Dan’s shoes and trousers for him and lay him in bed, laughing away at Dan being a lightweight, and then promptly climb in either side of him. 

Dan groans, feeling nauseous and irritable. He loves his housemates in many ways, but they are really annoying. 

“Unngh, get out,” he says, half into his pillow. Instead of obeying, Tyler and Teddy wrap Dan in their arms, squeezing him tightly. 

“Aw, Dan’s a grump because he had to face Scary Stephanie,” Tyler teases. 

“She was more terrifying than usual tonight,” Teddy muses. “Have you spoken to her since… y’know?”

Dan doesn’t reply; he’s too focused on trying to pretend he is currently alone in this bed. He has his eyes squeezed shut in an attempt to block out all evidence to the contrary. 

“Since he callously ripped out poor Stephy’s heart?” Tyler supplies, giggling. “I’d say he’s prrrobably been avoiding her since then, right Danny?” 

In the hopes it might get him some peace and quiet, Dan nods. 

“I still don’t get it,” Teddy says with a shrug that jostles the bed. “She’s pretty, and she isn’t a complete bore. Why chuck her?”

“Ted, you know why,” Tyler says, his voice mocking. “Dan’s a big fat gay now.”

Dan groans in frustration, elbowing Tyler in the side. “‘M not!” 

“Okay, that is bi-erasure, Ty.” Teddy admonishes, though there’s a smile in his voice. 

“Bi, gay, whatever.” Tyler says. “The point is, Dan’s ready to embrace his twink side at long last.”

Dan sighs, rolling his eyes despite them being shut. “Hate you both.”

“Um, no…” Tyler corrects, sounding affronted. “You love us to bits. Especially ‘cause we’re gonna take you to the hottest gay clubs in town and find you a big, beefy bear to help you transition to the dark side.” 

Tyler tickles Dan in the side, making him shriek. Teddy joins in then, laughing uproariously at Dan’s reaction. 

“No, stop, I’ll throw up on you both!” Dan cries, feebly attempting to fight back. 

“Say you love us, Dan!” Tyler cries over Dan’s agonised laughter. “Say it!”

“I’ll say it if you fuck off!” 

“Deal!” Teddy shouts. 

Despite this, in the morning, as predicted, Dan wakes up with his two terrible excuses for housemates still snoring in his bed. 

*

As soon as Dan’s alarm sounds on Monday morning, Dan hops out of bed, eager for the day to begin. 

He showers and brushes his teeth in lightning time, then spends twenty minutes sorting out his hair and changing his outfit. He tries not to think about why he’s so obsessed with his appearance today. 

After his fifth change of shirt, Dan checks the time and realises he’s about to miss his bus. Swearing loudly, he bolts out of the door, just about managing to grab his bag and coat on the way. Tyler snorts with laughter at him as he goes, blowing a kiss, and Dan just legs it to the bus stop. 

He makes it, just, but only because the bus is a minute late. Luck must be on his side today, he thinks as he struggles to get his breath back on the jolting bus, sweaty and already exhausted, his stomach rumbling. 

Forty minutes later, he’s wading through the swarms of schoolkids up the front steps, heart beginning to pound as he thinks about what lies ahead. 

He doesn’t need to check his timetable to know which class he has first today.

He gets to Classroom Nine ten minutes early, unable to dissuade himself from seizing the opportunity to spend a little bit extra time talking to Phil. 

This plan backfires a little when he opens the classroom door to find it empty and dark. 

He debates what to do, dithering on the spot, and then decides to just come back in a little while. He turns to leave, and bumps straight into Phil’s chest, spilling the mugs of coffee he’s holding in either hand. 

“Ow!” Phil shrieks, and Dan plunges feet-first into the hole opening beneath him in the earth. 

“Shit, shit, sorry!” Dan cries, taking the mugs from Phil’s hands as he flaps his hands in distress. 

“Ah!” Phil hisses, shaking his sleeves as they drip with hot coffee. “No, it’s cool don’t worry- crap, that was hot.” 

“I’ll get some napkins or something- ” Dan says, at a loss for what else to do. 

Phil chuckles, shaking his head. “It’s fine, Dan, I’ll live.” He straightens up, smiling at Dan in reassurance. “So, I brought you a coffee!” 

Dan stares at him in dismay. “I am so sorry.” 

Phil laughs. “I know. It’s fine. I just hope there’s some left in the mug.” 

Dan turns his attention to the cups in his hands. “Yeah, there is. Um, thank you.”

“No problem.” Phil says with a smile, then takes one of the mugs from him. 

He steps carefully around Dan and through the open door of the classroom, sipping as he goes. 

Dan takes a moment to internally scream at himself for being such a prat, and then follows him inside. Phil flicks on the lights, then goes to put his coffee down on his desk. 

“So, you’re keen.” Phil says to Dan, grinning as he rolls up his coffee-soaked sleeves. 

Dan notices for the first time that Phil is wearing that stupid black and white spotty bow tie he’d sent Dan a photo of on Friday. 

Distracted by the sight of it, Dan takes a moment to process what Phil said. His eyes widen. “Um, sorry?”

“You’re here early.” Phil points out, one eyebrow raised. “Not often that you see TA’s getting to class before the first bell.”

“Oh!” Dan says, relieved. “Yeah, well… I just thought…” He scrambles for a reason that might not sound weird, coming up blank.

Phil chuckles. “It’s okay! I’m glad. Setting up for first period alone is always boring.”

“I’ll do my best to entertain you.” 

Phil giggles, then goes to one of the cupboards at the back of the room. He pulls out some unreasonably large rolls of craft paper, along with several bundles of bamboo sticks. 

Dan sets his mug down immediately, going to help him haul everything out. 

“Oh, thanks,” Phil says, surprised, as Dan takes some of the things from him. “Just put them on one of the tables.”

“What are we doing with these, then?” 

Phil laughs, glancing at him. “Wait and see.”

Dan rolls his eyes, smirking. “Such an enigma.”

“It’s all part of the experience.” Phil says. “I’ve got to be mysterious and keep the kids questioning everything. Their curiosity makes them more receptive, I find.”

Dan nods thoughtfully, considering this philosophy. “But I’m not a student.”

“True.” Phil allows. He places the rolls of craft paper down on a table, turning towards him. “Maybe I’m just trying to impress you.” 

Dan laughs awkwardly, not knowing what to say. He fiddles with the sticks of bamboo, swallowing. 

“How was your weekend?” He asks, deciding a subject change is probably for the best. 

“Good!” Phil says brightly. “It was my brother’s birthday. I baked him a hummingbird cake.” 

“A hummingbird cake?” 

Phil chuckles. “Yeah! It’s pineapple and banana flavour with cream cheese frosting. Also I made it into the shape of a hummingbird, because why not?”

“Right.” Dan says, at a loss for what to say. “Why not?” 

“Wanna see?” 

Dan smiles, nodding, and Phil walks over to him, digging his phone out of his pocket. Dan stares at the device in Phil’s hands as he scrolls through his photos. 

This is the object he’d used to message Dan on Friday. Dan’s number is now saved into it. He is, in some small way, more intimately connected to Phil through this rectangular slice of technology. 

“Sorry, I took lots of photos of my brother.” Phil says, laughing, swiping through several pictures of a grumpy looking man in a glittery party hat. “He hates having his picture taken. Oh, here it is.” 

Phil moves closer, his shoulder pressing into Dan’s. He’s deliciously warm compared to the chilly, early morning air in this room, and he smells strongly of the coffee Dan covered him in a few minutes ago. 

He tilts the phone for Dan to see. The cake is astonishing to behold. It’s been moulded into a 3D hummingbird, complete with a chocolate pocky stick for a beak, and covered entirely in a pastel rainbow of frosting. 

“Okay, wow,” Dan says, not bothering to hide how impressed he is. “I was expecting a half-hearted attempt to shape a flat cake into the Twitter symbol… but that’s incredible.”

Phil giggles, looking bashful. “Thanks! It was tasty too, which is a bonus.”

“What do I have to do to get you to bake for me?” 

Phil turns his head to face Dan, still just a little too close. “Hm, I can think of some things.”

Dan can feel it as Phil leans a little more into him, his shoulder pressing slightly harder. He holds his breath, feeling like a rabbit caught in the path of a devious fox. 

And then the bell rings, of course. 

Phil leans away again, still smiling, just as the first students begin to bowl through the door. Jonah happens to be one of them, and he lets out a low whistle as he walks through strolls into the room.

“Oi, sir, you givin’ Mr Howell your number?” 

Phil laughs, pocketing the phone in his hand and moving swiftly away. “Nice to see you too, Jonah. How was your weekend?”

Dan tries to hide his furious blush by going to retrieve his coffee from the desk where he left it. 

The rest of the students file in, and Phil welcomes them all in his usual chipper way. For the first fifteen minutes, Phil does a brief recap of the last lesson about the Algerian War, then introduces the topic they’ll be looking at today, following on from it. 

Today they’re going to start studying the failed revolution of May 1968 in France. 

To emulate the frustration of the liberals taking part in the revolution, they’re going to make pickets and signs with anti-capitalist slogans out of craft paper and bamboo. 

Phil gives them an entertaining rundown of all the issues the left-wing majority of French society had in 1968, and then he tells everyone to get into this mindset, and begin crafting. 

It’s a bit of a madhouse from that point on. The students, despite being in Year Nine, seem to love being let loose with the art supplies. They’re excessive with their use of paint and glitter, creating huge, garish signs with aggressive messages. 

A few of Dan’s favourites read: 

‘We stand, we march, we dab’

‘Marx’s favourite bitchez’

‘Communism ftw’

‘Destroy France’s capitalist infrastructure u cowards’

Phil is loving the enthusiasm so much that he even lets a few curse words slide, though he does insist that Jonah change his sign to ‘We are unTRUCKable’, for the sake of his reputation as a teacher. 

Once the signs are more or less completed, Phil claps his hands to get everyone’s attention. “Right! Ready to get out there and protest?” 

The class look confused, a hush falling over them as they look at one another blankly. 

“Protest what, sir?” Jonah asks.

Phil tuts. “Haven’t you been paying attention? If we don’t protest, then nothing will change! Workers and students will forever be bottom of the ladder! We have to push the change! We must make Marx proud!” 

Dan stares at Phil like he’s gone insane, as do most of the students. 

“But…” A shy, timid girl Dan thinks is called Anita, pipes up. “This is all in the past, right? They already protested this in France in 1968.” 

Phil beams at her, winking. “True. But tell me, gang, has the fall of capitalism come to pass?”

The students shake their heads, looking unsure. 

“Exactly, Anita!” Phil cries. “So, did the effort these French liberals put in have any effect?”

“No,” Anita answers, her eyes round as she gazes at Phil. “They failed.”

“So we should continue what they started.” Phil says, picking up a nearby bamboo stick and raising it high. “Who’s with me? For the revolutionaries of ‘68!”

The class cheer suddenly, finally catching the glint in Phil’s eye. They grab their pickets, and follow Phil as he strides to the door of the classroom. Not knowing how else to respond, Dan hurries after them, a little panicked as the crowd of fourteen-year-olds pour out into the hall. 

If only his deadly strict advisor from teacher-training could see him now. The Health and Safety of most of Phil’s activities would absolutely not pass regulations. 

“What do we want?” Phil cries, oblivious to his own rule-breaking as he marches the gaggle of teenagers down the corridor. 

“Revolution!” Jonah shouts, laughing. 

“When do we want it?” 

“Uh, 1968?” Someone calls out, and Phil chuckles.

“Ideally, yeah, but forty-nine years later works too.” 

Marvelling at the boldness of this man, as usual, Dan jogs to the front of the pack of students, marching along beside Phil. 

The rest of the class begin a chant of their own, their signs waving above them in the air as they walk determinedly through the school. 

Several classroom doors open, and students and teachers alike poke their heads out into the corridor, laughing and pointing as they pass by. 

“You’re nuts,” Dan says to Phil, feeling breathless with the adrenaline of this mad activity. “Won’t the other teachers hate you for this? You’re probably disrupting a few classes.”

Phil laughs, shrugging. “Maybe.”

He grins at Dan as he veers unexpectedly to a nearby door leading to the playground. He holds it open for the students as they march through; several of them high five he and Dan as they go. 

Dan smirks at Phil. “I think you might be some other people’s favourite teacher too.” 

*

Dan tries not to be too gloomy as he helps gather up all the students’ pickets at the end of class. There are now just under three and a half days separating him from his next chance to assist Phil in the classroom. 

Sure, he might be able to snag some of Phil’s attention during lunch and break times between now and Thursday, but it’s not the same as having a full hour with him. 

“Guys, before you leave!” Phil shouts as the students pack away their things. “I thought that, as we’re studying the ‘68 revolution, it’d be cool for you to see a French film from around that time! Cinema is really important in French history, as a lot of the prominent left-wing figures were filmmakers, and they produced some really cool stuff about this period.” 

Dan looks up in interest, wondering where Phil is going with this. 

“So basically, as there isn’t enough time to show a whole film during class, I thought it’d be fun to have a little film night this week!” Phil tells everyone, beaming. The class squeal in excitement. “I thought Wednesday evening would work. I’ll bring a film in, and if you’re free that evening, stay behind after school and we can all watch it together!” 

The class all begin chattering at once, the excitement evident in their voices, even if it’s difficult to distinguish exactly what they’re saying. 

“Sounds like you’re all keen!” Phil laughs. “So if you can make it, I’ll start the film at about four on Wednesday.” 

“Have you invited Mr Howell, sir?” Jonah calls out, turning to wink at Dan. 

Dan glares at him, trying to suppress his own urge to blush. 

Phil chuckles, turning to Dan. “Is Mr Howell interested in coming along?”

Dan reaches up to rub the back of his neck, feeling awkward. At least twenty-six pairs of eyes glue themselves to him, eagerly awaiting his response. 

“Um… sure.” Dan says at last, shrugging like it isn’t the most exciting thing he’s been invited to in months. “I’ll try and make it.” 

The class laugh, and Jonah chucks a ball of leftover craft paper at him. “Oh, got something better to do, sir?” 

Dan chuckles, rolling his eyes. “Fine, fine. I’ll be there.”

“Awesome.” Phil says; Dan catches his eye, and has to keep himself from grinning. 

*

“Hey, we’re going to the pub tomorrow.” Tyler tells Dan on Tuesday, falling face first onto Dan’s bed. 

“I’m never going to the pub with you and Teddy again after last time.” Dan tells him, kicking Tyler with his foot in a vague attempt to push him off the bed. 

He’s been scrolling through Tumblr for an hour or so now, but just because he’s been holed up in his room since he got in from work, does not mean that Tyler gets to just wander in and annoy him. 

“Aw, come on, that’s mean.” Tyler says, pouting at Dan. “Stephanie won’t even be there this time, I swear.” 

Dan swallows, shaking his head as he turns back to his screen. “Nope, sorry.”

“Dan, you know we’re not gonna let you mope about the house while we go out.” Tyler says, raising an eyebrow at him. 

“Well, you don’t need to worry.” Dan says, feeling awkward. “I won’t be here.”

Tyler is quiet for a moment, then perks up, catlike, catching the scent of some gossip. “Oh?”

Dan just presses his lips together, saying nothing. He reblogs a photo of a cute panda, trying to stay calm. 

“Teddy!” Tyler yells, making Dan jump. “Dan’s keeping secrets!”

Dan looks up at him with scorn. “Tyler, don’t be-”

Teddy bursts into the room, wearing an apron with a naked man’s torso on the front, a spatula in one hand. 

“Secrets?” Teddy asks, wide eyes darting between Tyler and Dan. “What secrets?”

“Dan has secret plans tomorrow night.” Tyler informs him, grinning. 

“Plans?” Teddy repeats, acting shocked. “But Ty, Dan doesn’t have any friends apart from us!”

“Wrong.” Dan says gruffly. “You two are not my friends, I hate you both.”

“Is it a date?” Tyler asks, sucking in a gasp. 

Teddy leaps onto the bed beside Tyler, squealing. “Oh my God, is it a date, Dan?!” 

Dan rolls his eyes. “For Christ’s sake, no. It’s not a date.” 

He could never, in a million years, be that lucky. 

Just then, his phone pings. Ignoring the probing eyes of his two housemates, Dan plucks the thing out of his pocket to look. 

 **18:34  
** Phil Lester   
excited for some french cinema  
tomorrow night? je suis trés   
joyeux que tu viennes! :)

Dan’s heart flutters, registering who the text is from, and then his phone is being plucked out of his hand. 

“No!” Dan cries, lunging for Tyler. “Wait, don’t-”

“Okay, who is  _Phil_?” Tyler asks, holding the phone out of Dan’s reach; Teddy grabs hold of Dan by the waist, restraining him. 

“Ooh, Phil!” Teddy repeats, giggling. “I knew you were looking for a man.”

“I honestly loathe you both.” Dan grits out, struggling uselessly against Teddy’s grip. 

“French cinema?” Tyler asks, tilting his head to one side. “Is that code for something?” 

“Give me back the phone, Tyler.” Dan says, going limp in Teddy’s arms, defeated. 

“We’re just taking an interest in your personal life, Dan,” Teddy says soothingly, patting Dan on the head. 

“Phil’s just… he’s a guy I work with.” Dan says, feeling the redness spread over his cheeks and neck, betraying him. 

“Hmm,” Tyler says, throwing Dan’s phone aside at last. “A guy who is ‘very happy you’re coming’ tomorrow.” Dan blushes harder, not having worked out what the French bit had meant just yet. “Is ‘Phil’… how do you say,  _un beefcake_?”

“Is he a teacher?” Teddy asks excitedly, releasing Dan in order to cover his own mouth with both hands. 

“He’s a teacher, yes.” Dan confirms, snatching up his phone and pocketing it. 

“God, that’s hot.” Tyler sighs, looking wistful. “And he speaks French. Think of the roleplay opportunities.”

“Aw, we can try some schoolteacher roleplay, babe,” Teddy assures Tyler, patting him on the shoulder. 

“Fine, but I get to wear the cute schoolgirl outfit.” 

Teddy rolls his eyes. “Fine.”

“I’m pretty sure I can smell burning,” Dan says, sniffing the air in distaste. 

“Shit!” Teddy exclaims, grabbing his spatula and jumping off the bed. 

As he bolts out of the door, the fire alarm begins to shriek, making Tyler scream with laughter. 

“Everything’s fine!” Teddy calls from the kitchen. 

Despite the irritation sitting under his skin, eventually Dan finds himself joining in the laughter too. 

*

Dan is half an hour early to the film screening. 

He would have come straight from his last class, which ended at 3pm, but he decided to make a quick trip to the grocery store round the corner from school. 

He returns with two enormous bags, shuffling through Phil’s classroom door with some difficulty. Phil looks at the bags in surprise, coming over to help Dan haul them in. 

“What’s this?” Phil asks, clearly intrigued. As he takes one of the bags from Dan’s hand, he looks him in the eye. “Hi, by the way. Haven’t seen you all day!” 

Dan chuckles, setting his own carrier bag on Phil’s desk. “Hi. I brought popcorn!” 

“Oh, God,” Phil moans unexpectedly. “As if you could get any more amazing.”

Dan chuckles awkwardly, a warm glow spreading through his gut. “Uh, you like popcorn?”

“It’s literally my favourite food of all time,” Phil tells him seriously. “How did you know?” 

“Damn, I need to be more subtle with my stalking.” Dan says, making Phil laugh so much that he drops one of the bags. “Anyway, it’s not all for you.” 

“In that case, the kids better hurry up before I inhale it all.”

Dan laughs, watching fondly as Phil flits around the classroom, closing blinds and straightening chairs. The projector is on, currently throwing an image of Phil’s desktop background onto the smartboard. Behind his jumble of icons, there’s a picture of what seems to be a large, photoshopped capybara taking up an entire paddling pool. 

Dan decides not to question it. 

“So what film have you picked for us all?”

Phil beams at him. “It’s called  _Les Quatre-Cents Coups_. Have you heard of it?”

Dan shakes his head, the corner of his mouth twitching in an almost smile. It’s obvious to see how passionate Phil is about this subject; he talks animatedly, looking eager and focused.

It’s adorable.

“Wow!” Phil exclaims. “I’m kind of jealous. I wish I could go back to a time before I’d seen it.”

“What’s it about?” Dan asks, mostly in an effort to keep Phil talking.

“Oh… well, it’s about a little boy mainly. An underprivileged boy living in Paris. But it’s about much more than that really. It’s about the oppressive structures of French economy in the fifties, classism, the bourgeoise… and it’s about growing up, y’know? How even if we all experience it differently, there’s a certain relatability about puberty too.” Phil pauses, reddening a little. He chuckles. “I mean, that’s what I take from it, anyway. I studied the history of French Cinema for a while, so I’m a bit of a geek about it. But you can form your own opinions, obviously.” 

“Me?” Dan says, laughing. “I dunno. I don’t know the first thing about film. Apart from that I like going to the cinema.” 

“Well that’s a good place to start.” Phil tells him happily. “There’s all sorts of theories about spectatorhood, and why audiences enjoy the activity of going to the cinema, watching films as a collective experience…” 

Phil trails off again, shaking his head.

“Okay, you have to stop me if I start rambling, Dan. I get carried away.”

“I think it’s cute.” Dan says before he thinks about it. 

Phil’s eyebrow lifts in surprise, but he seems to take the comment in his stride. Dan, on the other hand, blushes furiously, cursing himself for being so transparent.

“I think you’re just too nice to tell me to shut up,” Phil jokes, but he lets his eyes linger on Dan’s, warm and fond. 

Luckily, before Dan can shove his foot any further into his mouth, a couple of girls from the class wander in, looking trepidatious.

“Hi, uh… can we come in yet, sir?” 

“Of course, Joanna!” Phil says, jumping down from his position on the desk. “Hi Bethany! Would you guys mind helping me and Mr Howell to set up?”

They jump to the tasks Phil gives them happily, chattering to him about the petty dramas of their day, complaining about their homework and the fallouts they’re having with friends.

Dan watches with amusement, marvelling - as always - at the ease with which Phil converses with his students, giving each one his undivided attention while they’re speaking, never replying in a condescending tone.

He’s such a rare gem of a teacher, Dan thinks. Phil sends Joanna to the staffroom to collect bowls, and they put one on each table, filled with popcorn.

Soon enough, the other kids begin to arrive, all wearing the thrilled grins Dan remembers from when he used to stay behind after school. There’s something about being in the building outside of the mandatory hours that just seems a bit naughty. It doesn’t matter that they’re here for what is essentially an extended history lesson - the students are excited to be involved in this extra-curricular activity.

Dan hasn’t asked them, but he’d bet a lot of that excitement comes from having Phil here, providing his ever-shining rays of brilliant, sunny exuberance.

The kids take their seats, restless at first, but settling in once Phil dims the lights and presses play. Dan finds a seat on one of the empty tables at the back, and is all prepared to expand his cultural knowledge with some French Cinema. Then, once he’s sure the film is running, Phil walks to the back of the class and slides into the seat right beside him.

Immediately, Dan releases any hope he was holding onto of immersing himself in the film.

“Ready?” Phil asks in a low, quiet voice that pierces straight through Dan’s gut. 

He’s leaning in close, eyes sparkling as the light of the opening credits reflect in them.

All Dan can do is nod silently, and try not to let the squeak out of his throat.

Phil’s one of those people who doesn’t shut up during a film. Dan hates those sorts of people usually, but he can’t seem to find Phil’s inability to keep his comments to himself anything but ridiculously cute.

His musings vary from the way in which the cinematography emphasises certain aspects of the narrative, to the strange dress sense Parisians had in the days of the ‘nouvelle vague’, as he calls it.

He talks so much that he is shushed by the students more than once, but he just giggles and apologises in a stage whisper, to which the students roll their eyes.

“See that?” Phil says at one point, basically pressing himself against Dan’s side in order to point at the screen. “The photo of the man Antoine is putting on his shrine? That’s Balzac. He’s one of the founders of realism in literature.”

Dan smiles. “How meta.”

The responding look Phil gives to Dan is something so warm and proud that Dan wants to melt it down and spread it on a thick slab of toast.

“Exactly.”

Their hands meet in the popcorn. It’s like something out a cringey teen TV show. Phil just laughs and winks at him, but Dan about faints from how fast the blood rushes to his cheeks.

Phil seems to have no issues about personal space, and allows their legs to rest comfortably against each other beneath the table. He’ll grab Dan’s shoulder during his favourite scenes, eyes shining, breath held as he watches the screen.

Honestly, by the time the final shot (apparently an incredibly famous moment in film history) appears, Dan is not totally sure whether he’d be able to say what the film had been about. He’d spent quite a lot of it staring at Phil, and the rest of it thinking about how it felt -  _elating, blissful, drug-like_  - to sit beside him in the darkness, in a room where everyone else was steadfastly facing the other way.

Phil turns to him as the image fades to black, a knowing glint in his eye.

“Did you like it?” 

Dan stammers out something that isn’t really words, and nods emphatically to make up for it. Phil grins at him, tongue slightly visible through his rows of teeth, and then he stands up, much to Dan’s dismay.

“So that was  _Les Quatre-Cents Coups_!” Phil says to the class, climbing up to sit on the desk at which he and Dan had been sat. Dan cranes his neck upwards, leaning back in his chair to watch as Phil crosses his legs underneath him on the table. “Could someone get the lights, please? Thanks Bethany.”

The lights flash on, garish and bright, and the class groan, rubbing their eyes.

“What did we all think of it, then?” Phil asks, beaming. 

“Awesome!” Someone shouts.

“I thought I hated black and white films, but that was cool.” 

“I loved it! Paris is so beautiful.” 

“That kid was well sick at acting, sir.” 

Phil nods encouragingly as students call out their opinions. 

Jonah snorts loudly. “I couldn’t concentrate on half of it. Kept gettin’ distracted by Mr Lester and Mr Howell flirting in the back!”

Phil laughs, shooting Jonah a disapproving look. His smile stays in place though. 

“I’m sure Mr Howell has far better options, Jonah.” Phil teases, and Dan just tries to pretend he’s somewhere else. 

He might kill Jonah at some point, he considers. 

Then, someone sticks up their hand. Phil points at the kid, smiling. 

“Yes, Matt?”

“What’s the title mean in English, sir?” 

“Well, the English version of the film is called  _The Four-Hundred Blows_.” Phil answers. “Which is actually an inaccurate translation, as it doesn’t mean anything. The original title comes from a phrase that people use a lot in France - ‘faire les quatre cents coups’ - which kind of means ‘to raise hell’. It suits Antoine, don’t you think?”

“Suits me, sir!” Jonah calls out, making everyone chuckle. “I’mma start sayin’ that. What was it again? Fair lezzer cooper?” 

Phil laughs, hands holding his ankles as he leans backwards. It’s such a sweet action, so innocent and playful, that Dan can’t help smiling.

“Faire les quatre cents coups,” Phil corrects gently, enunciating each word. “I think it suits you as well, Jonah.”

Joanna is sat at the table in front of theirs, her chin in one hand as she gazes up at Phil, marvelling.

“Do you speak French, sir?” Joanna asks, obviously smitten. Dan can relate.

Phil beams at her. “Yeah, I do! I spent a year studying in Paris.”

Dan’s eyebrows lift in surprise. He’d suspected that Phil knew a few phrases, but the fact he speaks fluent French is a surprise. Why is that such an attractive quality?

He imagines Phil speaking to him in that low, quiet voice he reserves for when he wants to tell Dan something the class or another teacher shouldn’t overhear, but in French. A warm trickle runs teasingly up his thighs, like light, tracing fingers. A full body tremor comes over him. 

Phil throws a glance towards him, presumably having seen that peculiar reaction. Dan doesn’t miss the way his mouth twitches in a smile.

“That’s so dreamy,” Joanna sighs, retrieving Phil’s attention. She sits bolt upright, blushing. “I mean! It’s a dreamy  _language_.” The rest of the class chuckle, and she reddens further. “I wish I could speak it is all!” 

“Well, you’re in luck!” Phil announces suddenly. “Because as you may or may not be aware, our Year Nine History trip is coming up in two weeks time!” 

The class immediately descend into loud, excited chatter; students grab at each other, squealing.

“Hey, come on, guys! Calm down, we’re here after hours, remember?” Phil calls out, but he’s grinning, evidently pleased by their enthusiasm. The class simmer down gradually, their buzz of excitement still palpable in the air. “So, yeah! We’re off to Paris for a weekend! If you can make it, it’s only fifteen pounds per student, and if you can’t stretch that, come and have a word with me, I’m sure we can work something out.”

Dan’s eyes soften as he listens to this last part. This man really is one of a kind.

Again, the class begin talking animatedly about the trip, discussing outfit choices, places they want to visit, room sharing, and other trivialities.

“Are we going up the Eiffel Tower, sir?” Someone asks. 

“I’m scared of heights!”

“Where are we staying?” 

“Are we sharing rooms?” 

“Are we going by coach, or ferry?” 

“Ooh, maybe we’re flying!” 

“Can I bring my dog?” 

“Hey!” Phil interrupts, hands held up in surrender. He’s laughing at them all. “All questions will be answered in class on Monday. I’ll also be sending out permission slips tonight via email, so get your folks or guardians to print them off and sign them, then bring them to me when they’re ready.”

“Sir, I just have one more question!” Jonah cries out, sticking up his hand and waving it. “Just one, sir, please?” 

Phil sighs, clearly debating it. Eventually though, he rolls his eyes and nods, smiling. “Go on then. Just one.”

Jonah grins, eyes flicking to meet Dan’s. “Is Mr Howell coming with us?”

Phil lets out a low chuckle, his vivid blue eyes sliding to Dan’s, questioning. 

“I don’t know,” Phil says in a voice that surely isn’t appropriate for the situation at hand. Dan swallows, feeling singled out by the gaze. “Is he?”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Phil, you’re literally rescuing me from a storm,” Dan says slowly, watching the bashful smile spread over Phil’s gorgeous features. “You could drive me via the Eiffel Tower if you wanted.”

This is all Mr Horowitz’s fault. 

Okay, so it’s also a little bit Dan’s fault for forgetting to bring an umbrella, or even a sensible coat, but in his defence, he had no idea this would happen. 

Normally, Dan’s walk to the bus stop after school is little more than two minutes, and so far he has always made it in time to catch the 3:17 bus. It’s a good thing too, because Dan knows that the next one doesn’t come for another hour. 

He’d been on his way to catch this same bus, in fact, when Mr Horowitz caught his arm, asking whether, before he left, he’d just run upstairs to the labs and clear up the experiment from the last class. Dan, being the school’s servant boy, couldn’t exactly refuse. He’d raced up to the labs at just after 3pm, cleared the desks in lightning speed, run a broom over the floor and sprinted to the bus stop. 

But alas, the sight with which he was greeted was the tail end of it, chugging into the distance as the rain pelted down. 

So now, Dan is stood, shivering like mad, in the downpour. It’s currently 3:30pm, and he still has another 47 minutes before the next bus. 

“Fuck you, Horowitz,” Dan mutters under his breath, which comes out in a silvery puff of steam. 

He wraps his thin jacket around himself a little tighter, rocking on the balls of his feet. Students keep passing him by, some sending sympathetic looks, and some chuckling at his plight. Dan knows he must look an absolute sight; his hair is probably plastered to his head, and his smart shirt and skinny jeans are so drenched that they’d fill a few jugs if they were wrung out, he’s sure. 

“Wanna use my Physics textbook as an umbrella, sir?” A Year 11 student Dan vaguely recognises calls out as they walk past, laughing. 

Dan shakes his head with a grim smile. “No thanks,” He replies, as tactfully as he can bring himself to be. 

It’s at this moment that a car pulls up to the bus stop, pausing right beside where Dan is stood. 

The window rolls down, and Dan’s immediate instinct is to run away - a product of the copious amount of ‘stranger danger’ warnings instilled into him during his teacher training. 

Then, the driver of the vehicle leans across the passenger seat, and Dan nearly wails. It’s Phil. Of  _course_  it’s Phil. 

“Hey!” Phil says, a glimmer of amusement in his cobalt eyes. “Need a lift?”

Trying his best not to think about the fact that he looks the worst he ever has, Dan forces a tight smile, leaning towards the open window. 

“Hey, hah- yeah, I didn’t exactly prepare for the weather today.” Dan says, chuckling at himself. “But it’s okay. Thanks for the offer but I live really far away. I’ll just get the next bus.” 

“When’s the next bus?” Phil asks. 

A car behind him slows to a stop, unable to get past. Dan glances up at it worriedly. The driver, an older man in a suit, looks impatient. 

“Um, in forty-five minutes. Ish.” 

Phil’s eyes widen, his mouth falling open. “What?! You’re planning to wait here in the rain for that long?”

Dan tries to give Phil a bright smile, like he’s fine with it, but a raindrop falls from his forehead into his eye, making him wince. 

“Y-yeah, it’s okay, I’m-” Dan cuts himself off as a sneeze surges up out of nowhere; he just about manages to turn away, aiming it into the crook of his elbow. 

When he looks back up at Phil, he does not look pleased. “Dan,” he says, his voice dropping to his firm, teacher tone. “Get in the car.” 

Partly because the gentleman behind Phil has begun honking his horn, and partly because his knees have jellified at the sound of Phil speaking to him this way, Dan pulls open Phil’s passenger door and climbs in. 

It’s so warm inside that he could cry. 

“I’m gonna get your seats all wet.” Dan says mournfully, trying to take up as little space as he can. 

“They’ll dry.” Phil tells him, turning the heater up until it’s blasting over Dan’s face and chest. “There are more important things than courtesy, you know Dan.”

Dan turns to him, trying to work out whether Phil’s annoyed. He watches silently as Phil pulls away from the kerb, joining the thick muddle of after-school traffic inching its way towards the main road. 

“My mum raised me to be a polite young man,” Dan jokes, trying to lighten the mood. 

“My mum raised me not to put my health in danger for the sake of asking a friend for a lift once in a while,” Phil replies, looking over at Dan. The windscreen wipers squeak as they battle the awful weather. After a moment, Phil sighs, his expression softening. “Sorry, I don’t mean to have a go at you. But come and find me if you miss your bus again, okay? I’d rather drive a bit out of my way today than have you turn up tomorrow with pneumonia.”

Dan nods guiltily. “Wait till you see how far away I live before you get too generous.”

*

“Wow,” Phil whistles, eyebrows raised as he stares down at Google Maps on his phone. “You weren’t kidding.”

They’ve pulled into a layby, the rain still thundering against the glass. It doesn’t matter though, because Phil’s car is warm and dry. It’s littered with little plastic toys, highlighting Phil’s quirkier side. There are Marvel superhero bobble-heads blu-tacked onto the dashboard, and the cupholders are filled with keyrings that look like they were won out of those two-penny slot machines.

There are also sweet wrappers scattered around - skittles, starburst, pick ‘n’ mix, or anything sugary and colourful. 

None of it seems anything other than incredibly endearing, though. Dan could spend hours rifling through this car, which is so intrinsically _Phil,_ just learning about him through his clutter. 

“Yeah,” Dan says awkwardly. “It’s a forty minute bus ride.” 

“You do that every day?” Phil asks, looking up at him in wonder. “ _Twice_  a day?”

Dan shrugs. “It’s not that bad.”

It would be a lot worse if he had nothing to look forward to once he actually got to the school, Dan thinks privately. 

“Um, don’t worry about taking me all the way,” Dan says quickly, “just drop me at another bus stop or something on your way home-”

Phil flaps a hand at him distractedly, turning back to his phone. He pinches the map, searching the screen for a route to take. 

“No, no, I don’t mind taking you,” Phil says, chewing his lip. He looks up, out of the windscreen, appearing to have some sort of internal debate. “It’s just… well, do you mind if we make a stop?”

Dan blinks at him. 

“Uh, a stop?” He asks, uncomprehending. 

“Yeah,” Phil replies. “It’s just that I need to let my dog out. Would you mind if we stopped at mine on the way? I’ll take you straight home after.”

Dan pauses for a moment, the words not sinking in straight away. Phil wants to take him to his house, where he actually lives, and he’s asking if that would be a problem.

“Phil, you’re literally rescuing me from a storm,” Dan says slowly, watching the bashful smile spread over Phil’s gorgeous features. “You could drive me via the Eiffel Tower if you wanted.”

Phil grins at him, putting his phone down and releasing the handbrake. “Maybe we should save the Eiffel Tower for another time.” Phil side-eyes him, questioningly. “Like in two weeks?” 

Dan’s already racing heart picks up a little more speed, the fact that he is currently en route to Phil’s actual house beginning to seep into reality. He laughs, feeling awkward about what Phil is implying. 

“Yeah, I still haven’t decided whether I’m coming on the trip yet,” Dan says, hands clasping together in his damp lap. 

“You know it’s free for teachers, right?”

“I’m not a teacher.” 

Phil smirks. “I’m sure I can persuade John to let you in free of charge.”

“Who?” Dan asks.

“John. Mr Green.” Phil clarifies; Dan just stares blankly. “Vice Principal of the school?”

“Oh,” Dan says, vaguely remembering a ‘VP Green’ showing him round on his first day. “I haven’t seen him since I first started. Sorry.”

“Well, he’s coming on the trip.” Phil tells him. “So, that’s a perfect opportunity to get to know him better.” 

“Right, because having an awkward conversation in Paris with the Vice Principal of a school I’m heavily under-qualified to work at is top of my to-do list.”

Phil laughs heartily, pulling off the main road into a suburban maze of small houses. They can’t be more than ten minutes from the school. Dan gazes out of his rain-speckled window at the idyllic neighbourhood, trying not to be too obvious about how badly he wants to soak it all in. 

“You’re not under-qualified.” Phil says, leaving no room for argument. "You’re one of the best TA’s I’ve ever had.” 

Dan stays quiet in the face of this statement, not sure how to handle it. 

“Besides,” Phil continues, to Dan’s relief. “John’s actually a pretty cool guy,” 

As it has rather often since the film screening on Wednesday, Dan’s mind wanders to thoughts of Paris, of being there with Phil and the rest of the Year Nine class. In his current state of awkward, socially inept pining over the class’ teacher, Dan’s not sure he’d be able to handle the experience. 

Yes, it would be an amazing opportunity, and undoubtedly fun at times. But the class already tease Dan, sensing his overly-fond opinion of their favourite teacher despite him trying to keep it under control. It’s hard to imagine an entire weekend of that, in the so-called ‘city of love’, whilst attempting at least a shade of professionalism. 

Not to mention how uncomfortable the whole thing could make Phil. 

“But I don’t wanna pressure you.” Phil says, interrupting Dan’s tumultuous thoughts. “I just think it’d be fun if you came.” 

Before Dan can properly comprehend that statement, let alone reply to it, Phil is pulling the car over and switching off the engine. 

They’re parked in the middle of a quiet, orderly street, right outside a cute little bungalow, complete with a neat front garden and little pathway to the front door. 

“You live here?” Dan asks, awed by how…  _lovely_ it is. 

Phil chuckles, unbuckling his seatbelt. “No Dan, I brought you to someone else’s house and we’re going to break in.” 

Dan turns to narrow his eyes at Phil, who just laughs more. 

“Come on, let’s get inside - it’s still belting down.” Phil says, unfastening Dan’s seatbelt before he gets the chance. 

Dan takes a deep breath in a vain attempt to prepare himself for what’s about to happen, and follows Phil as he hops out of the car, and jogs to the front door. 

*

If Phil’s car is telling of his personality, his house is as though he’d cracked open his chest, scooped handfuls of his soul out and splattered it all over the walls. 

Dan has never seen any sort of interior design that represented a person so well before. It’s not just visually appealing, it’s also a spectacle to behold. Dan’s sure that by just opening one random drawer in Phil’s house and glancing at the contents, he’d understand a thousand more things about this man, strange and enigmatic as he is. 

They enter into a small entrance hall, painted a sunny yellow. There’s a semi-circular welcome mat on the floor, made to look like half a pepperoni pizza. On one wall hangs a large mirror, in a bizarre, warped shape, the edges curved as though they’d been drawn by a child. 

There’s a tall cheese plant in one corner, and on a table below the mirror sits a potted scarlet anthurium. It’s a colourful room, and Dan’s very aware that this is only the very entrance of Phil’s house. 

Before Dan can comment on the aesthetics - which he greatly appreciates, having lived in a cheap, falling apart, ‘student house’ for some time now - a small creature tears through the doorway on the left, bounding towards them, barking shrilly. 

Phil crouches down to greet it, gathering the bundle of excitable fur into his arms immediately, laughing. Mouth falling open in an adoring ‘o’, Dan drops to the floor instinctively, an overwhelming urge to pet this animal forcing him to its level. 

“Dan,” Phil chuckles, receiving several licks to his face. “This is Buffy.”

It lets out a ‘ruff!’ upon hearing its name, turning to Dan, tongue hanging out as it surveys him. In a millisecond, the dog is wriggling in Phil’s arms, struggling to be free. It worms its way out of Phil’s grip in a second, leaping across to Dan’s lap, tail wagging excitedly. 

“Oh my  _God_ ,” Dan says, cuddling the dog close to himself as he strokes and scritches and pets its soft, caramel fur. “This is the cutest dog I’ve ever seen in my  _life_. What breed is it?” 

“She’s a paperanian,” Phil says, moving to sit cross-legged on the floor. He laughs as Buffy begins frantically licking at Dan’s face, front paws on his chest as she attempts to reach him. “A pomeranian-papillon mix.”

Phil strokes along her back, fondly, his hand occasionally brushing across Dan’s. 

Dan is giggling into the shock of Buffy’s fur, relishing the adorable, happy temperament of this dog. His only family dog had been a springer-spaniel when he was young, and it had died before he’d had a chance to bond with it properly. 

“Unff-” Dan says, voice muffled as Buffy licks eagerly at his chin. “How long’ve you had her?” 

“About a year and a half?” Phil replies, smiling warmly. “I used to volunteer at a shelter when I lived in France. I didn’t mean to get attached, but I couldn’t help it. So I adopted her.” 

“She’s adorable,” Dan says, stroking over her soft, pointed ears as she begins to calm down, happily settled in Dan’s lap. “I think I’m in love.” 

Phil glances up at Dan, eyebrow raised. For some reason, Dan finds himself blushing. “I get it.” Phil replies. “I fell in love on sight.” 

Dan holds Phil’s gaze for a moment, any responses getting caught in his throat. Buffy barks, stealing their attention, and Phil giggles at her. He stands, scooping her up from Dan’s lap and into his arms. 

Dan tries not to pout about this. 

“Come on, then,” Phil says, presumably to the dog, “I’ll let you out for a bit.”

Dan stands too, following Phil through his hallway and into the room on the left. 

Again, he is struck by the amazing decor of the room in which he enters, which seems to be a spacious living area, but he barely has time to appreciate it before Phil is heading into the kitchen at the other end, Buffy still tucked in the crook of his arm. 

At the back of the kitchen there’s a glass sliding door, leading to what appears to be a tiny back garden, surrounded by a tall wooden fence. It’s through here that Phil lets Buffy out, barking happily as she scampers across the wet grass, not bothered by the rain in the slightest. 

Phil slides the door shut after her, turning to Dan with a smile. “I’ll just let her run around for a bit. She’s been cooped up all day.” 

“I guess you have to leave her here while you’re at school?” 

“Yeah,” Phil replies guiltily. “It’s not as bad as some jobs, because I can let her out in the morning, and then I finish quite early in the day, but I still feel bad.”

“I’m sure she’s used to it.” Dan says, trying to make a positive comment. 

“Yeah, I suppose.” Phil says. “If I ever have to stay late, I can call my brother to come and check on her. He lives just down the road.” 

“That’s convenient, at least.” 

Phil shrugs, turning to his kitchen counter and retrieving the bright red kettle. 

“It’s not perfect, but it works okay.” Phil says. “Anyway, I’m rarely away from home. It’s not every day I have to rescue  _damoiseau_ ’s in distress caught in rainstorms because they missed their bus.” Phil winks at him; along with the casual french he dropped into the sentence, it makes Dan feel a little dazed. 

“Do you want a cup of tea while she runs about for a bit?” Phil asks.

Dan feels his heart flutter, and wonders whether any of the other TA’s have ever had the honour of coming here, of meeting Phil’s dog and receiving hot beverages on rainy days. 

“That’d be great, thanks.” Dan answers quietly, still feeling like an inconvenience. 

As Phil fills the kettle and gets the mugs, Dan takes the opportunity to look around his kitchen. It’s beautiful, just like the rest of the house, but with a few youthful, quirky touches that indicate Phil’s sillier side. 

The walls are cream, as are the countertops, but there are splashes of colour everywhere. The microwave is bright yellow, and there are a host of tiny herb plants in red, green, blue and orange pots atop the windowsill. 

Phil’s fridge is a light blue, and around his light wooden table, the chairs are varying sizes and colours, mismatched, but in a way that seems put together. 

“It’s so homely in here,” Dan muses, not really meaning to say it aloud. 

Phil turns to him, evidently surprised. “Thanks! Most people say it’s a bit much.” He pours the boiling water into the mugs, chuckling. “My brother said that it’s as if I gathered a random load of furniture and scattered it about without thinking.” 

“Did you?” 

“Kind of, I suppose.” Phil allows, shrugging one shoulder. “I just pick up bits and pieces that I like the look of, and fit them in as best I can.” He laughs, opening his sky-blue fridge to get the milk. “I don’t pretend to be an expert in interior design. I just like things to be…” 

“Pretty?” Dan supplies.

“I was gonna say colourful,” Phil says, smiling at him. “But yeah, I suppose. Thanks.” 

Dan blushes faintly, casting another look around. He notices for the first time that Phil’s fridge door is covered in those alphabet magnets, some of which spell out the phrase ‘normalness leads to sadness’. There’s also a photo pinned there, of Phil and a man Dan vaguely recognises as his brother. He’s holding Buffy in his arms, smiling a very Phil-like smile.

“Milk? Sugar?” Phil asks, tearing Dan’s attention away. 

“Just milk, thanks.” 

Phil pours the milk, humming to himself, and adds two lumps of sugar to his own cup from a gnome-shaped pot nearby. He places the mugs down on the table, and pulls out a chair. 

“You can sit down, you know,” Phil tells Dan amusedly, slipping into one of the seats. 

Dan obeys, sliding into the chair opposite him and retrieving his mug. “Thanks.” 

He sips, even though it’s far too hot, trying to think past his nerves, for something, anything, to say that isn’t ‘ _wow you’re pretty and your house is pretty and your dog is the cutest thing in the world and I think I’m crushing on you far, far too much to even be here let alone go to Paris with you in two weeks_ ’. He comes up blank. 

Then, quite unexpectedly, Phil reaches across the table, and pushes a strand of his fringe away from his eye, a slight smile playing on his lips. Dan freezes, a deer in headlights, as Phil’s fingertips brush his forehead, acutely aware of how damp he is still. 

“Your hair,” Phil says softly, wonderingly. “It’s curly.” 

Dan blushes furiously at once, ducking away from Phil’s touch, feeling self-conscious. “Shit, yeah. The rain, y’know…”

Phil draws his hand back to his mug, smiling amusedly. “It’s cute.” 

Dan looks at him in surprise. He’s never, in a million years, considered the idea that anybody might find his natural, untameable curls anything other than ridiculous, but all of a sudden he has a powerful urge to never touch a pair of straighteners again. 

Dan lifts his hand to his head, patting the mess of curls that are drying there. 

“I… never really liked them.” He admits, sheepish.

“You should embrace them,” Phil says encouragingly. He shrugs one shoulder. “I mean, if you want. I think they suit you. But then, it’s not my hair.” 

All of a sudden, Dan shivers, partly because he’s wet and cold, but mostly because Phil is being so sweet that his body actually seems to be rejecting the sentiment, not sure how else to process it. 

Phil frowns, noticing the tremble. “Hey, take that off.” 

He gestures to Dan’s torso, standing from the chair. Dan just looks, bewildered, at Phil’s outstretched hand. 

“Um…”

“Your jacket, Dan.” Phil says, the corner of his mouth twitching. “I’ll throw it in the dryer.” 

“Oh, no it’s okay-”

“Dan, you’re actually shivering.” Phil interrupts, voice firm. “I’ll just dry off your wet jacket, it’ll take ten minutes.” 

“It’s warm in here, you really don’t have to.” Dan mumbles, but he’s already shaking the damn thing off his shoulders, because Phil is using his teacher-voice, and it’s drilling right into his chilly bones.

Phil just takes the jacket from him, opening a secret cupboard door under the kitchen counter to reveal a washer-dryer. He places Dan’s jacket inside, presses a few buttons, and smiles in satisfaction as the dryer begins its cycle. 

He turns back to Dan, frowning again as he takes in the sight of him. 

“Hey, drink your tea, it’ll warm you up.” Phil instructs, moving across the room, towards the doorway. “I’ll be right back.”

Dan doesn’t get a chance to object; Phil slips out of the room, leaving Dan sat at the table in just his damp, clinging, white shirt, hands clasped around the mug of tea.

Then, in a moment, he’s back again, a bundle of green material in one hand. He hands it to Dan casually, then moves to sit back in his seat.

“Um, what’s this?” Dan asks, confused. He turns the green item over in his hands carefully. 

“A hoodie,” Phil says, like it’s perfectly normal. “You’re cold.”

Dan swallows, squeezing the material in his fist. It feels thick and warm. “Oh, th-thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Phil says, beaming. “Put it on, you’re not allowed to be cold in my house.”

“I didn’t realise you had such strict house rules,” Dan replies teasingly, but pulls the hoodie over his head, threading his arms through the sleeves. 

It smells -  _oh, Lord_  - it smells just like him. It’s cinnamon sweet, with a fresh, plant-like overtone. A cooling, freshly baked apple pie on a windowsill, the breeze sweeping in its delicious aroma, carrying the notes of the newly cut spring grass. 

Dan has to force himself not to bury his nose in the sleeves that hang down over his hands. 

He tries to distract himself by looking down at the text on the front of it, which reads ‘York University’. “I see I’m repping your college.” 

“Hah, yeah, sorry about that.” Phil says bashfully, sipping more tea. “I guess it’s a bit weird to hang onto that, isn’t it?”

Dan shrugs. “Not if you liked it.” 

Phil smiles at him appreciatively. “I liked the uni, yeah. And I like the hoodie. I like it even better on you.” 

Simply because Dan doesn’t trust himself to speak further about this without melting into a gooey puddle, he decides to change the subject. 

“So, is it Buffy as in… the vampire slayer?” 

He nods towards the screen door, through which Phil’s dog is sprinting happily across the grass, pausing every so often to sniff a patch, tail wagging furiously. 

Phil turns to watch her for a moment, laughing. He nods, turning back to wink at Dan. “I mean, it is the greatest show of all time.” 

Dan considers this, nodding. “It’s definitely up there.”

“You’ve seen it?” Phil asks, sounding surprised. “Not many people have, these days.”

“You spend too much time around teenagers.” Dan says with a wry smile. “The kids in your classes probably weren’t even born when Buffy was cool.” 

Phil sighs, nodding in agreement. “You’re probably right.”

“Hey, it’s their loss.” Dan says. “They’ll never know the awesomeness that is Buffy Summers kicking kicking the ass of every monster that dares to cross her.”

“Or the incredible hotness of Spike,” Phil adds, somewhat wistfully. 

“Spike over Angel? Interesting.” 

“To be honest, if I were Buffy, I think I’d have a similarly hard time deciding between them.”

“Same,” Dan agrees, staring down into his tea. 

“Hey, I forgot,” Phil announces suddenly, his voice bright and cheerful. “I made cupcakes! Would you like one?”

Dan watches as Phil stands from his chair, heading to a cupboard to pull out a cake tin. 

“Um,” Dan says; his stomach is rumbling at the mere mention of food, let alone cake, but he wants to be careful about how far he should run with Phil’s generosity. In the end however, his tummy, which hasn’t been fed since lunch, makes the decision for him. “Sure. Thanks.”

Phil finds a small plate and presents Dan with one of the most incredible looking cakes he’s ever seen. Putting bakeries to shame, Phil has piped rainbow frosting atop a small, palm sized cake. He’s also sliced off the top of the cake, cut it in half, and pushed the pieces into the icing in a traditional ‘butterfly cake’ style. 

The whole thing is covered in some kind of edible glitter too, making it sparkle under Phil’s soft, overhead lamps. 

“Christ, you made this?” Dan asks, staring down at it in amazement. “I feel like I shouldn’t eat something this pretty.”

Phil chuckles. “It’s either going to you or Buffy, so eat up.”

Phil takes his seat again, and Dan diligently begins peeling the glittery pink case from the sides of the cupcake. He glances up at Phil, watching him, and pauses.

“You’re not having one?” 

Phil shakes his head. “Trust me, I’ve had about sixty already since I made them. He leans back in his chair, placing a hand on his stomach. “I’m cupcake’d out.”

Dan’s eyes fall to the cake in his hand, feeling awkward about eating it now. 

Phil laughs at him, and Dan looks up. “What?” 

“Afraid I’m trying to poison you?” 

Dan splutters, having not even thought of that. Realistically though, he perhaps should be a bit more concerned. He doesn’t know Phil  _that_  well, after all.  

Playing along, Dan eyes the cake suspiciously, bringing it to his nose and sniffing. “Well, it is awfully convenient that you just  _had_  to let Buffy out whilst you already had me in your car…”

Phil rolls his eyes, smirking. Without a word, he leans forwards, plucks the cupcake from Dan’s hand, and brings it to his lips. He takes a small bite, frosting and all, licking glitter and crumbs from his lips as he holds Dan’s gaze. 

He hands the cupcake back over, looking triumphant. “There. If it’s poisoned, then we’ll both die.”

“Finally,” Dan jokes, taking a bite out of the cupcake, heart palpitating over what just happened. 

The cupcake is glorious. Dan shuts his eyes, moaning a little in appreciation. It tastes like strawberry laces, and vanilla ice cream, and pure, unfiltered joy. It tastes like how he imagine Phil himself would taste, were he smothered in frosting and had a surprise, raspberry jam centre. 

“Fucking hell,” Dan says eloquently, diving straight back in for another bite. “Phil Lester, you’re a  _genius_.” 

In three bites, Dan has devoured the entire thing, and he licks the remnants off each of his fingers, wishing he could go back in time and experience that slice of heaven all over again. 

When he eventually meets Phil’s gaze, he’s looking a little dazed. There’s a pink tint to his pale skin, resting just above his sharp cheekbones. Seeming to gather himself, Phil clears his throat, and adjusts his glasses, smiling. 

“Glad you liked it,” Phil mumbles, busying himself by taking Dan’s plate to the sink. 

“You should apply for Bake Off,” Dan says sincerely.

Phil laughs, rinsing the plate under the tap, faced away from him. 

“Actually don’t,” Dan says, changing his mind. “Just bake for me, instead.” 

Phil stacks the plate on a drying rack, turning back to him. He doesn’t sit back at the table, though. He just leans against the counter, watching Dan from afar. 

“And what do I get out of that deal, Mr Howell?” Phil asks, raising an eyebrow. 

“Literally whatever you want.” Dan replies, meaning every word. 

“Careful,” Phil says, typically flirtatious, making Dan’s stomach flip. “Some people might take advantage of a promise like that.” 

Dan just laughs, staying quiet. In his mind however, he silently comes to the realisation that he can’t think of a single thing that Phil could ask for, that he would refuse to do. 

Oh, dear.

*

By the time they leave Phil’s house, the rain has eased to more of a drizzle, but it pours continuously nonetheless. Dan says goodbye to Buffy about five times, softened by her sad little whimpers and puppy eyes each time he turns to go. 

He doesn’t mind that her fur is soaked and a little muddy, he just cuddles her close, no doubt ruining Phil’s hoodie, though Phil doesn’t object. He doesn’t even tell her off as she tracks damp pawprints through the kitchen, he just uses a spare towel to dry her off, giggling as she wriggles about beneath it. 

“Aw, he’ll be back another time, Buffy,” Phil assures his whining dog, and secretly Dan bursts with happiness. 

They get out of the door eventually, and into Phil’s car. Phil sticks the heating on straight away, blasting them both as they rub their hands together. Dan wishes it would be socially acceptable to lean across and nestle into Phil’s shoulder, but alas, he settles for simply wrapping the hoodie more tightly around himself, pretending it’s Phil’s arms. 

“She loves you,” Phil says, laughing. “She’s not going to let me forget that, either.”

“What a shame,” Dan says, faking a dismayed sigh. “I guess I’ll just have to come and play with her all the time.”

Phil grins at him. “You should. Buffy would really like that.”

“ _Buffy_  would?” Dan asks, feeling just brave enough to attempt a flirtation, fuelled by the adrenaline his own body has been pumping through his veins for the past hour or so. 

Phil just smiles at him, eyes holding Dan’s for a moment, seeming to forget about starting the car. “Yeah,” he says after a while. “She really would.”

*

It’s quite painful to watch Phil driving away. 

It’s only been a couple of hours, but in the short time he and Phil spent together this afternoon, Dan had grown rather attached to his presence. 

This whole crush-thing would be so much easier if Phil was a difficult person to hang out with. But it’s so easy. They fall into banter as quickly as breathing, their conversations lasting indefinitely, because they could spring off each other’s witticisms for hours on end. 

Phil is so funny, and so effortlessly charming. He’s intelligent and sharp, which is attractive on its own, but he has such a flirtatious streak, and it only makes things worse. 

The more time Dan spends around him, in fact, the more he feels himself falling into a deep cavern of yearning. 

When Phil pulled up to Dan’s house, right before Dan got out, he handed Dan another one of his cupcakes, which he’d hidden in a little Tupperware box in the glove compartment, unbeknownst to Dan. 

Dan had protested at first, saying he couldn’t possibly steal another of his incredible creations, but Phil insisted on him having it. Eventually, Dan managed to create a condition - that he owed Phil a favour, not only for the cupcake (and the other cupcake) but for the cup of tea, and introducing him to Buffy, and the kindness, and for _literally rescuing him in his hour of need and driving him forty minutes across town to his house_. 

Phil laughed, but agreed to these terms. Dan had gone to leave his car then, cupcake in hand, but Phil had stopped him, saying he had an idea for how Dan could repay him. 

Of course, he  _had_  to say Paris. 

So, because he’s helpless to refuse Phil anyway, and because he owes Phil a lot, Dan agreed. So, in two weeks, he’s off to Paris, to spend an entire weekend with Phil, in the most romantic city in the world. 

Yes, there will be twenty or more teenagers along for the ride, but Dan finds it difficult enough to keep it together in Phil’s presence as it is, even during class. 

Forty-eight hours of uninterrupted time in close proximity to this man is going to render him as useless as a smitten nerd-girl in any teenage rom-com that’s existed since the beginning of time. 

He sighs, watching from his doorway as Phil’s car rounds the corner, out of sight. He opens the Tupperware, and takes a bite of the delicious cake, sighing in defeat.

“Okay,  _who_  was that?” Tyler’s voice says from right by his shoulder, making Dan jump. 

“Is that hot, French, teacher-guy?” Teddy interjects from further inside. 

Dan rolls his eyes, turning to push past both of them as he stalks into the house. “Don’t you guys have anything better to do than spy on me?”

“Aw, Dan we just want to see you happy!” Tyler exclaims, following Dan into the kitchen. 

He wraps his arms around Dan’s waist, walking behind him like a drunk mum too into the conga line, until they reach the counter. 

Dan puts his half eaten cupcake back in its box, placing it on the counter. 

“How do you know I’m not?” Dan asks crossly. 

“I mean, you’re fine.” Teddy says, strolling into the kitchen to rest his arm on Dan’s shoulder. “But fine isn’t good enough for our lovely Daniel. We want to see you being adored!”

Teddy pinches Dan’s cheek, smiling at him. Tyler kisses him on the temple, ruffling his hair. 

Dan rolls his eyes, but smiles a little under the affection. “Thanks, but I’m good.” 

He struggles free of them, intending to take an immediate shower in order to wash the rainwater off himself. He heads for the door of the kitchen, mind already on other things. 

Phil things. 

Paris things. 

“Hey, Dan?” Tyler calls out, sounding confused. Dan turns on the spot, somewhat reluctantly. “I thought you went to the University of Manchester?” 

Dan frowns in confusion. “Ty, we all went to the same uni. We literally  _met_  at uni.”

Teddy hides a smirk in Tyler’s shoulder. “Right, right.” Tyler says. “So whose hoodie is that?” 

Having completely forgotten he was even wearing the thing, Dan flushes bright red, stammering in place of a response. It’s an absurd reaction, obviously, but it sends the others into fits of laughter, and Dan instinctively knows they won’t let this go for weeks, no matter how much he tries to insist it was a purely platonic gesture on Phil’s part. 

“I hate you both,” Dan groans, practically running out of the room. 

He slams the door of the bathroom, switching on the shower, cheeks still flame-red in the mirror. He pauses, caught by the sight of his reflection, swathed in the emerald green of Phil’s hoodie. 

He strokes the words on the front, feeling how they’re beginning to flake from multiple washes, and from the creases Phil has made as he moves around in this same garment, when it’s wrapped around him instead. 

Dan lifts the sleeve to his nose, breathing in that delicious scent. The vanilla-strawberry cupcake still lingers on his tongue, making it that little bit sweeter. 

He’ll return this hoodie, he tells himself, saving it until last as he strips off for the shower. But maybe he could forget for a few days. Or maybe he could say that he wanted to wait until the next time he’s in class with Phil, which isn’t until Monday now. 

He places the hoodie carefully to one side, not wanting it to get wet, and hops in the shower. He lets his mind drift, skimming across memories of Phil’s touch against his forehead, the sound of the rain pattering against his screen door as the dog played outside, the low, fond tone of Phil’s voice from across the table, the flame of something vivacious dancing in his glacial eyes. 

Paris, he decides, as the light trickles of warm water travel over his body, might not be so bad. 


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Paris, je t'aime.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter features some French! I have translated the scene here:
> 
> http://danfanciesphil.tumblr.com/post/168341779380/translation-of-french-in-chapter-5-of-teacher-au
> 
> Huge shoutout to lexou-chan on tumblr (lexou-chan.tumblr.com) for all her help with this.

“Just bring us back some authentic macarons, for the love of God.” Teddy says, his voice pumped with an urgency that suggests this has been on his mind for some time. 

“He’s right, the poor imitations they make here don’t compare to the Parisian originals.” Tyler agrees, placing a hand over Teddy’s in sympathy. “You’ll see.”

“Guys,” Dan whines, on the verge of tearing his hair out. “You’re not helping! I leave for Paris tomorrow. I need advice, not souvenir requests!” 

“Ooh, now that you mention it, I’d love a béret.” Tyler pipes up, eyes gleaming. 

Dan flops down onto the pile of clothes covering his bed, groaning. His suitcase is open, but tragically empty, despite the fact that Dan is headed for France at 8am tomorrow morning. 

It’s currently 10:30pm.  

“Come on, Dan,” Teddy says, falling back onto the pile beside him. “You’ll be fine! Just stop stressing.” 

“I mean, how hot can this guy  _be_?” Tyler asks, barely concealing his genuine curiosity. He holds up one of Dan’s faded t-shirts, wrinkling his nose in distaste. 

“It’s not just that he’s hot,” Dan grumbles, sitting upright. 

Teddy pats him soothingly on the back. 

“He’s also incredibly clever, and funny, and charming.” Dan says, sighing. “He’s a big, beautiful ball of sunshine.”

“What does that make you?” Tyler asks, chucking the t-shirt at his face. “A planet, orbiting around him?”

“More like a speck of space dust.” Dan says, hurling the t-shirt to the floor; he never liked it much anyway. 

Tyler sighs at him, hand on one hip. “Dan, get it together. It’s three days. You can manage for three days.” 

“Just... help me decide what clothes to take.” Dan replies miserably. “That’s what you’re good for, isn’t it?”

“Ooh, charming!” Tyler exclaims, picking up one of Dan’s trainers from the floor in order to chuck it at him. “Careful or I might pack you nothing but suspenders and mini shorts.” 

“An outfit like that might actually help him in this situation,” Teddy laughs, poking Dan in the side repeatedly until he laughs. 

It takes over an hour of packing, then repacking, then doing it all over once more, before Dan is finally just about satisfied enough to be able to zip up his case. Despite getting to bed reasonably early (for him) however, he still doesn’t get more than a few fleeting snatches of unconsciousness. 

*

Unsurprisingly, Phil is raring to go, bright and chipper for the journey ahead, by the time Dan reaches the school. 

Phil’s stood beside the coach, greeting grumpy, overtired students and their parents as they arrive. 

Yes, he assures several worried mothers, there’s a first aid kit on the bus. 

No, he hasn’t visited the hostel personally, but it got very high ratings on TripAdvisor. 

He’s not sure whether he’ll be able to personally update any parents by phone twice a day, but he’ll make sure to remind students to check in with their worried families to let them know they’re still alive. 

Dan walks straight over to him, keeping his head down amongst the crowd of irritable teenagers in their casual clothes; he still looks young enough that he probably passes for one of them, after all. 

“Dan!” Phil exclaims as soon as he catches sight of him. “You made it!” 

He’s wearing a black scarf, which he immediately removes and wraps around Dan’s neck. 

Dan blushes, unable to keep from smiling despite his tiredness. “What’s this for?” 

“It’s cold in Paris.” 

“But what about you?” Dan asks. 

Phil shrugs at him, smiling. “Guess I’ll just have to wrap you around me instead.” 

Dan rolls his eyes, his heart already hammering away. Christ, he’s been in Phil’s presence for less than a minute, and he’s already practically swooning. 

“You can get on if you like,” Phil tells him. “I nabbed us the seats at the front - teacher privileges.”

“Yeah?” Dan asks, mind working sluggishly. “What about my bag?” 

Phil glances down at the pack by Dan’s feet. “Oh, I’ll take that.” He lifts it onto his shoulder with an ease that startles Dan somewhat, seeing as he’d used most of his strength for the day just getting it here. “I’ll put it with the others.”

Dan just watches in amazement as Phil walks off with it, slinging it into the luggage compartment underneath the bus with the other students’ bags. He starts helping some other kids with their cases, so Dan leaves him to it for now. 

He’s such a weakling that he’d only be a hindrance if he tried to assist, anyway. 

The bus is only half full when Dan steps on. Some of the students are chattering quietly, but most are quiet, the dark circles under their eyes betraying how rarely they see this hour of the day. 

“Oi, Mr Howell! You’re coming!” A voice calls, unmistakably belonging to Jonah. “Right on, sir. Knew you would.”

Dan gives a small wave towards the direction he heard the voice, but doesn’t manage to summon enough strength to reply. Instead, he heads for the pair of seats at the front of the bus, upon which Phil has already placed his galaxy backpack, and what seems to be some sort of blanket, made up of a variety of materials, stitched together in a zig-zag pattern. 

Dan sits down heavily, head lolling back against the headrest. He only means to close his eyes for a moment, but the next thing he knows, he’s waking up to Phil beside him, the bus already chugging along the road. 

“Hey, you’re awake,” Phil whispers. Dan blinks at him, embarrassed at having already failed so spectacularly in his teacher-duties. “I brought coffee. Want some?”

Without waiting for an answer, Phil pulls a shiny gold flask out of his backpack, along with two plastic cups. He pours out some coffee, and hands one of the cups to him. 

“Thanks,” Dan says, sincerely. He brings the coffee to his nose, inhaling the rich aroma. “You’re so prepared.” 

Phil giggles. “Not really. I just can’t function without coffee.” 

“How long have we been going?” 

Phil shrugs, sipping from his own cup. “About an hour or so?” 

“Shit.” Dan says, sitting up a little straighter. Realising what he just said, he slaps a hand over his mouth. “Whoops. I mean, ‘sugar’.” 

Phil laughs again, under his breath. “Don’t worry. Most of them are zonked out. You’re safe.”

Dan cranes his neck around the seat to peer down the aisle of the bus. Sure enough, the vast majority of the students have their eyes shut fast, their heads lolling as the coach bounces along. 

As he turns back, he notices VP Green, also asleep, in the seats across the aisle from them. He runs a curious gaze over the older man, noting how different he looks in casual-wear, rather than his usual suit. 

“So, where are we headed?” Dan asks, drinking some coffee as he faces Phil again. 

He crosses his legs instinctively, and notices for the first time that the zig-zag blanket is draped over both his and Phil’s laps. He chokes a little on his sip. 

Did Phil actually tuck a blanket around him whilst he was sleeping? 

“Uh, Paris?” Phil says, chuckling. 

Dan rolls his eyes, deciding to push the blanket thing to the back of his mind, for fear of going mad from over-analysing it.“No, I mean like... which hostel. Which... bit?”

“Which  _arrondissement_ , you mean?” 

“...Sure.” 

“ _Le quatorzième_.” 

Dan stares at him blankly, making Phil laugh. 

“The fourteenth. A place called  _Montparnasse_. It’s a nice area, on the left bank.” Phil explains; Dan still feels a little lost by this, which must be evident. “The south side of the river. It’s where  _Jean-Paul Sartre_  lived.” 

“Oh!” Dan says, surprised. “That’s cool. I’ve read his stuff.”

“You have?” Phil asks, eyebrows raised. 

Dan pushes him lightly in the shoulder, cheeks warm. “Don’t sound so surprised!”

Phil grins, pushing back. “I’m not, sorry. It’s just that not many people have.” 

“Well, you see Phil, I’m not one of the crowd.” Dan says, jokily. 

“I know,” Phil replies, no hint of insincerity. 

*

“By the way,” Phil says casually, while their coach idles at their fourth toilet stop of the trip. “I put us down to share a room. That’s okay, right?” 

Dan, who is bent forwards in the seat, battling with the blanket as he attempts to rety his shoelace, jerks upwards as he hears this, heart rattling the bones of his ribcage with how hard it begins to pound. 

“Share?”

“Yeah,” Phil confirms, shrugging one shoulder in vague apology. “The hostel is two to a room. Before you confirmed you were coming, I was psyching myself up for three nights with snorey Green over there.” 

Phil inclines his head towards VP Green, who has been sound asleep for the entire journey so far, his snores alternating between earth-quake level and soft, tinny kitten purrs. 

Dan hides a snigger behind his hand, though his heart continues to race. This is something that Phil should definitely have mentioned about the trip. It adds a whole new layer to Dan’s already steeping anxiety. Sharing a room with Phil is far different to just being in a hostel with him. 

There’ll be no escape. He’ll have nowhere to hide. 

Dan will be in Phil’s constant presence for the entire weekend, morning and night. How will he sleep, knowing that Phil is unconscious in the same room? 

How will he  _breathe_?

“Yeah,” Dan says, managing a shrug, though he’s not sure it’s very convincing. “That’s cool.”

*

They arrive in Montparnasse at 6:30pm. 

“Cor, sir it’s fucking freezing!” Jonah says as he steps off the bus, arms wrapping around himself. 

“Jonah, language!” VP Green says sternly. 

He still seems a bit dazed, having slept the whole way here. Dan and Phil had passed the rest of the journey playing a marathon game of I Spy. 

Dan had complained, because Phil kept thinking of things he couldn’t possibly have seen - an elephant, a superman - and justifying it by saying “I saw it on a poster!”, or “there was a cloud shaped just like him!”. 

Inevitably however, Dan could only be annoyed with him for approximately three seconds before being overcome with the adorableness of it all. 

They haul the bags out of the coach, and trundle into the hostel Phil has booked for them, imaginatively named ‘L’Hôtel Montparnasse’. 

Thankfully, Phil has already given the students the chance to pick out their roommates for the trip, so there are no arguments as the kids find their pairs, collect their keys from Phil, and race through the corridors to find their rooms. 

John, Phil, and Dan stand in the lobby, bereft of the teenagers they’re in charge of suddenly. They turn to one another, shoulders sagging. 

“I really hope that’s the right way,” John says, gazing at the corridor into which the students all disappeared. 

Dan snorts. “On the bright side, if they’ve run off, they’re not our problem anymore.” 

Phil chuckles, then holds up the two remaining keys in his hands. “Okay, this is for you, John-o.” He tosses the key into John’s hands, turning to Dan. “And this one’s ours.”

“C-cool.” Dan manages, not trusting himself to look Phil in the eye just yet. 

“Right, well,  _rendez-vous_  here for about 7:30?” John suggests, already grabbing the handle of his suitcase. “Freshen up, then we can get some dinner in these kids?”

“Sounds good,” Phil says, smiling. His hand is resting lightly on Dan’s back, as though he’s pushing him towards the room already. “I think this place has a dining area. We can check it out.”

“All good with you, Dan?” John asks. 

 _Hmm_ , Dan thinks, his mind spinning as he considers the upcoming scene.  _Well John old pal_ ,  _I’m about to walk willingly into a small bedroom with the guy I can’t stop obsessing over, pick out a bed right next to his, possibly change in front of him, all whilst attempting to play it perfectly cool._

“ _Très bien_.” Dan says, plastering on some semblance of a smile. 

*

He’d expected the bedrooms to be small, but this is just cruelty. If he were with anyone else, Dan would be fine with it. He’s stayed in hostels before, obviously (he’s a young, broke twenty-something), and by typical standards, this one is pretty damn nice. 

The beds are made, with clean sheets and blankets. There’s a big window, through which the pretty cobbled street outside is visible, bathed in early evening light.

There are bedside tables, with a lamp on each, simple and functional, but a great asset to the room nonetheless. What the room lacks however, is space. 

The majority of the floor is taken up with the two single beds, which - despite being pressed against opposing walls - are almost squashed together. Dan can just picture laying in one tonight, flinging his arm out, and being able to touch Phil without difficulty. 

He shivers. 

All of a sudden, Phil pushes past him, leaping onto the bed on the right. “I call this one!” 

Dan smiles weakly, dropping his bag onto the other bed and perching on the end. It’s not exactly the most comfortable mattress he’s ever felt, but that’s hardly surprising. 

“God, I’m exhausted.” 

Phil sits up, mild concern passing over his features. “Do you wanna stay here and get some sleep? I’m sure me and John can handle the kids through dinner.” 

Oh no, Dan thinks, feeling his heart pang. Phil’s being understanding. He’s being sweet and caring. As if he could make himself any more desirable. 

He shakes his head, managing to give Phil a grateful smile. “Nah, it’s okay. I’ll just... make sure I have an early night.”

“Shame,” Phil says, winking. “I had all sorts of games in mind that we could play once the kids were asleep.” 

Dan’s heart immediately lurches forwards, slamming against his ribs; he feels an actual ache in his chest, and splutters. 

“Oh?” He chokes out, avoiding Phil’s eye. “More ‘I Spy’?” 

“Not exactly,” Phil chuckles, scooting off the bed. “Guess you’ll have to wait until tomorrow night now.” 

Dan just watches him in silence, not sure what possible response he could scrounge up right now. Phil throws his own bag down on the bed, digging inside until he finds a fresh shirt. 

Dan swallows, sensing what’s about to happen, and quickly scurries out of the room, muttering something about finding the bathroom, before Phil has a chance to strip off. 

*

“Get a fucking grip, Dan.” He tells his blurred reflection in the mirror of the communal bathroom. 

There’s one on each floor, equipped with two shower cubicles, three toilet cubicles, and three sinks. A long mirror is hung over the sinks, smeared and flecked with water stains; it’s nothing five star, but it could be much worse. 

There’s someone showering in one of the cubicles, singing loudly and off-key. If Dan’s not mistaken, the song they’re attempting to perform is ‘Cry Me A River’ by Justin Timberlake. 

An oldie, but a goodie, Dan thinks appreciatively. 

He sighs at himself, dithering because he doesn’t want to go back into that room and be forced to see Phil’s naked chest. He thinks he might actually explode if that were to happen. Or, more likely, he’d do something stupid and obvious, like blushing too hard, or stammering, or hey - maybe just fainting on the spot. He’s pretty tired, after all. 

The shower cubicle door opens, and a man walks out, whistling the same Timberlake tune as he strolls over to the sinks, a towel around his waist. 

“Oh, Dan!” The man says brightly.

Turning in surprise, Dan looks at him properly for the first time. He stands up a little straighter, realising who it is. 

“Mr Green!” Dan says, feeling very awkward all of a sudden. 

In avoiding staring at Phil’s bare skin, he’s apparently managed to confront himself with a different teacher’s naked torso. He blushes, trying to focus on Mr Green’s face. 

“Please, call me John.” He says, beaming. He runs a hand over his stubble, peering at his reflection. “Not in front of the kids perhaps, but I think we’re on a first name basis at this point, don’t you?”

“Um, sure.” Dan says, not really agreeing, but in no mind to argue. 

“So, escaping Phil already?” 

“Hah, no, no, I just...” Dan flounders for an excuse. “I had to pee.” 

John glances at him in the mirror, evidently a little stunned by such an up front admission. “Right. Of course.” He straightens up. “Well, even so. I know Phil’s a little... eccentric. Don’t get me wrong, I think he’s brilliant. And the kids love him, so I consider his personality a blessing. But if you need a break from him, Dan, I understand. And hey, I’m only down the hall!” 

Dan laughs politely, feeling very uncomfortable. “Right, yeah. I... should probably go and check if he’s ready.” 

“Sure thing, Dan.” John says, heading back to his shower cubicle. “See you in a bit!  _Cry me a river, oh_...” 

Dan scurries out of the door. 

*

According to Phil, dinner time is a success. 

The girls apply full faces of makeup just to traipse down to the crappy dining hall of this hostel and eat lukewarm buffet food. The boys flick mashed potato at each other, and the girls shriek at them. 

There are twenty-three of them in total, including teachers, and they take up one long table, Phil at one end, John at the other. Dan seats himself beside Phil, on the corner, alarmed by how the students are behaving. 

They talk too loudly, and annoy several other guests into leaving the dining area. They lean back on their chairs, they spill food and drinks, and they make a mess of the table. 

Dan almost has several heart attacks attempting to keep them under control, and has to apologise to the hostel workers twice. Thankfully, John is a little stricter, and has a level of authority that makes the students listen to him. One stern glance from VP Green can make even Jonah slump back into his seat, defeated. 

Phil, on the other hand, is breezy and calm throughout. He laughs with the students, rolls his eyes at their mischief, and barely says a stern word to any of them. When Dan queries this behaviour, Phil simply says that the most important thing is that the kids are happy, fed, and safe. 

“It’s the first night,” Phil says, bumping Dan’s shoulder with his own. “They’re bound to be over-excited. We’re in France! They’ll settle down after some food and sleep.” 

Dan wants to believe him, but he doesn’t see it happening. The kids are restless, and full of a youthful energy Dan hasn’t found in himself since he was fourteen. 

In all honesty, even thinking about tomorrow, where Dan will have to endure an entire day of this, out and about in the streets of Paris, is making him nauseous enough to push his bland plate of sausage and mash away. 

He feels a hand on his shoulder, and turns to look at Phil, his serene face like an island of escape from the madness. 

“Hey, trust me.” Phil tells him in a low, soft voice. “It’s gonna be fun, I promise.” 

Dan sincerely hopes he’s right.

*

As predicted, sleeping two feet away from Phil does not allow Dan to get much rest. Despite desperately needing sleep, Dan again only manages a few hours, spending the rest of the night replaying the instance just before Phil climbed beneath his covers, where he’d unbuttoned his shirt agonisingly slowly, and shucked off his jeans. 

He’d pulled on a baggy tie-dye t-shirt pretty quickly, and Dan only allowed himself a peek at the exposed thigh on show below his boxers, but it was enough. The sight of him, so barely clothed, is going to be seared into Dan’s retinas for the rest of time, he’s sure. 

Phil is a deep sleeper, thankfully. He doesn’t so much as breathe loudly, let alone snore. He faced away from Dan, mercifully, or else Dan thinks he might have spent the whole night studying his sleeping face. 

It’s a surreal experience, being half-awake, knowing that Phil is right there. It’s comforting too, somehow. 

He wakes up to the sound of Phil moving about, feeling bleary from his own exhaustion still. He’s sure he looks awful - dark circles and bed hair - but Phil catches his eye and smiles sweetly, pulling on his mismatched socks. 

“Morning, sleepy.” 

“Ffrnnhhh,” Dan replies, burying his face in the pillow. 

Phil laughs, standing up. He walks over and pats Dan on top of the covers. 

“I’m about to go and rouse the kids for breakfast,” Phil says; Dan turns just enough that he can see Phil out of one eye. “Shall I see you down there?” 

Dan nods, grunting once in affirmation. 

Laughing again, Phil heads for the door, the crippling avalanche of the early morning melting off his shoulders as if he were a furnace.

“Wait,” Dan croaks, sitting up a little. “Will you get me a coffee?” 

Phil smirks at him, rolling his eyes. “Yes, Mr Howell.” 

*

Dan has three coffees. He bypasses the croissants and pastries that the hostel lay out in an impressive spread, and opts solely for a caffeine breakfast. He pours his third coffee into Phil’s flask and insists on taking with them as they get up to leave. 

He is horrified to find that they’ll be  _walking_  around Paris, as opposed to getting the Metro or a bus. But Phil insists that Paris is ‘designed’ to be walked around.

“We’re going to be  _flâneurs_  for the day, like true Parisians!”  

So they set off on foot, the students bundled in thick coats and scarves, swarming down the street behind Phil. 

Dan walks at his side, sipping coffee from Phil’s flask, and complaining. 

“Dan, cheer up!” Phil tells him, shoving him in the side with a laugh. “We’re in Paris! Look at all the pretty buildings! The  _boulangeries_! The  _pâtisseries_!” 

Dan sighs, the excitement in Phil’s voice seeping under his skin. 

“Sorry,” he says, swigging more coffee. “I’m just tired. I’ll perk up, I promise.”

“It’s okay,” Phil says, “I know you didn’t get much sleep. I heard you tossing and turning. D’you find it difficult to sleep in new places?” 

Oh crap, Dan thinks, head snapping up to look Phil in the eye. He heard?

“Something like that.” Dan answers vaguely, ransacking his brain for a change of subject. “So, where are we headed?” 

Phil grins at him, clearly pleased by this question. He spins theatrically on the spot, facing the students as he continues to walk backwards. 

“We’re going to the  _Musée De L’Orangerie_!” He shouts, one arm flung out to the side.

The students look at each other, bemused and sceptical. At the back of the crowd, John grins happily, sending Phil a thumbs up. 

“The fuck’s that, sir? You takin’ us to a museum of oranges?” 

“I see you’re into your classical art, Jonah.” Phil says, laughing. He catches John’s displeased eye. “And try not to swear, yeah? We’re representing the school!” 

Jonah rolls his eyes, but smirks. “Yeah, yeah, sir.” 

“Mr Howell?” Phil asks unexpectedly, just as Dan pulls him out of the path of a pedestrian. Somehow, Phil is managing to walk backwards without issue, but it’s putting Dan on edge. “Do you know what we might find at  _L’Orangerie_?” 

A little embarrassed at being called out, Dan answers quietly, barely looking over his shoulder at the others: “Monet.” 

Phil is quiet for a few seconds; Dan can feel him staring. He looks up, meeting Phil’s surprised gaze with a slight smile. 

“What?”

The corner of Phil’s mouth twitches. His bright blue eyes flick over Dan’s face, like he’s seeing it in a whole new light. 

“Nothing.” 

"I think Mr Howell’s pronouncin’  that wrong, sir.” 

Phil turns back to the students, confused. “What do you mean, Jonah?” 

“I don’t know nothin’ about art, but even I know it’s called the  _Mona Lisa_ , sir.”  

Dan has to hide his laughter in Phil’s scarf, which he made sure to wrap tightly around his neck before setting off. 

*

“You never told me you liked art,” Phil whispers to him, making Dan jump a little. 

The caffeine has started to kick in, and now he’s feeling kind of wired. He has no concept of how long he’s been stood here, in front of this one specific section of Monet’s  _Water Lilies._ He’s lost in the deep, swirling hues of blue and purple; the calming colours of this masterpiece are reminding him of something fantastical, but he can’t place what it is. 

He turns to face Phil, who has wandered over to stand beside him, and instantly remembers. 

“I guess I’m full of surprises,” Dan answers, finding that his breaths are harder to catch hold of, as he stares into the  _Nymphéas_ of Phil’s eyes. 

Phil smiles, turning back to the painting. 

Dan’s been here once before, when he was young, but he’s seen these paintings countless times. There’s a feature, on the  _Musée De L’Orangerie_  website, that allows a ‘virtual tour’ of its rooms. Kind of like Google street view, it’s as if you can step through the screen and into the gallery. 

Sometimes, when his anxiety threatens to overwhelm him, Dan puts on his Frank Ocean playlist, or maybe some Chopin (he knows, he’s pretentious), and stares at these canvases on his laptop screen until he feels better. 

He’s not about to tell Phil this, though. 

“Monet’s probably my favourite,” Dan comments, trying to follow exactly which part of the painting Phil’s eyes are focusing on. “There’s something inimitable about his stuff.”

“It’s so... mad,” Phil says, awed, tilting his head to one side. “How did he know?”

“Know what?” 

“Well, up close it’s so messy. It’s like he’s just splodged some colour together any old way.” Phil says; Dan smiles, loving that Phil just  _gets_  it. “But then you step back...” Phil takes hold of Dan’s arm, walking them both backwards a few steps. “...and it’s-”

“A masterpiece.” Dan finishes for him, nodding. He pauses. “Kind of reminds me of your kitchen.” 

Phil laughs, the sound of it bursting out of him, glittery and bright. “What?” 

Dan blushes, but stands by his statement. “That’s what you said to me, remember? You said you just throw random bits of furniture and decoration together without really thinking about how it’s all going to fit. But I saw it for the first time and I thought it was beautiful.”

Phil regards him for a moment, apparently at a loss for what to say. After a while, he laughs again, but the sound of it is a little breathier, as though he’s stunned. 

“You must be very sleep deprived.” Phil tells him, but he sounds fond. There’s a light dusting of pink across the pale glaciers of his cheekbones. “But thank you.” 

A gaggle of students walk up to them then, brimming with questions about the artwork, all of which Phil answers, his patience never failing to astound. Now and then, Phil will look to Dan for an answer that he’s not sure of, which is kind of thrilling. 

Dan’s not used to being the knowledgable one in any situation, let alone a situation with Phil. 

After a while, the group of girls in question drift from asking Phil anything at all, and direct their questions at Dan instead, clearly sensing he’s the one to ask about this subject. 

“Did Monet have a happy life?” One of them asks, which is the only question that stumps him. 

For some reason, Dan finds himself dragging his eyes up to Phil’s, behind her, as though his face might hold a clear answer. Phil is looking at him, obviously interested in his answer, so Dan considers it carefully, rifling through what information he has stored away in his absurd brain about his favourite painter’s life. 

“He... had a complicated life.” Dan says after a minute or so. “He was an innovator of impressionist art, but like lots of innovators... he was ahead of his time.” 

Dan looks at the painting, still reeling at the idea that it’s so close, after all these years of staring at its pixel version. He could reach out and touch it right now if he really wanted. Of course, it would end in him being marched out and possibly banned from his favourite museum, but still, he  _could_. 

“I think he got a bit obsessed with it.” Dan continues after a moment of contemplation. “He wanted to be this great, revolutionary artist. He had all these wild ideas about colour, but he was so caught up in his mind that he kind of forgot to just enjoy himself. Like, he had a wife, Camille, that he loved a lot, but he only ever painted one portrait of her. He regretted it a lot after she died. I don’t think he really ever got over her, honestly. All of his paintings from later life are like this,” Dan says, gesturing at the enormous room of canvases, covered in dazzling scenes of colourful ponds, for which Monet is best known. “If you see the painting he did of her on her deathbed... it’s so expressive. So filled with grief. The colours are blurred and crushed together, just like these. There’s so much emotion in them.”

Dan pauses for a second, trying to articulate his caffeine-fuelled thoughts.

“I can’t be sure of my theory obviously.” Dan shrugs, eyes still fixed on the painting. “All I know is that if I were heartbroken, I’d probably pour my sadness into creating something giant and overwhelming. Something packed with beauty and feeling. Something like this. ” 

When Dan tears his eyes away from  _Water Lilies_  at last, the girls are all looking at him in wonder. 

“Mr Howell, that’s so romantic,” Anita, one of the girls, says dreamily. 

“Do you paint?” Another girl, Gaeul, asks shyly. 

Dan swallows, rubbing the back of his neck. This is suddenly very awkward; how did the conversation turn to him? 

“Um, no. Not anymore...” 

“Okay, I think Mr Howell’s answered enough questions, gang,” Phil interrupts gently. “Let’s move to the next room, okay?” 

The girls nod at him, all giggles and smiles, and wander off, their eyes lingering on Dan for a while. 

“Sorry,” Dan blurts as soon as they’re out of earshot. “I got carried away.” 

“You shouldn’t be sorry, Dan,” Phil tells him, voice gentle and soft. “I thought I was the weird one ranting about my obsession with French culture, but it’s really nice to hear you talk about what you love.” 

Dan shuffles on the spot, not sure what to do with his hands, suddenly. He shoves them in his pockets, for fear they might do something stupid of their own accord, like reach out for the man in front of him. 

“Most people say I’m talking bollocks,” Dan says, chuckling, trying to shrug Phil’s comment off with a joke. 

“Most people must be pretty dull then, I guess.” 

*

At lunchtime, Phil decides that the most appropriate way to feed the herd is to take them all to a typical french  _boulangerie_. They head to the  _Jardin des Tuileries_ , the famous park near the museum, and let the kids find their own spots to sit down on benches and the edges of fountains. Then, in small groups of five or six at a time, Dan and Phil escort them to the  _boulangerie_  across the street to purchase baguettes or sandwiches. 

Phil does all the ordering for them, exchanging casual banter with the baker in perfect French; Dan tries hard not to let on how hot he’s starting to find it, hearing Phil slip into his second language with perfect ease. 

In fact, he overhears a couple of the other students whispering about how ‘peng’ it is that he can speak so well. 

Once everyone has bought something for their lunch, Phil and Dan head back by themselves to get something. 

“ _Vous revoilà!_ ” The baker jokes upon seeing Phil pushing open the door. “ _A votre tour d'acheter votre repas maintenant?_ ” 

“ _Oui! Vos baguettes sont vraiment trop bonnes!_ ” Phil replies, grinning. 

Dan just smiles awkwardly, clueless as to what is being said. 

“ _Et qui est votre ami?_ ” The baker asks, gesturing to Dan. “ _Ou... petit ami, peut-étre?_ ” 

Dan looks at Phil fearfully, sensing he’s under discussion. 

“ _Ah..._ ” Phil chuckles, glancing at Dan with a smirk. “ _Dan est ...juste un ami_.  _Il est bien trop joli pour moi_.”

“ _Oh, non! Ne dites pas ça!_ ” The baker cries, shaking his head. 

“What’s he saying?” Dan whispers, feeling like he’s missing something here. 

“He... just asked who you were.” Phil replies, shrugging. “Don’t worry.”

“ _Dan_ ,” the baker says suddenly, leaning over the counter towards him. “Q _u'est-ce que vous attendez ? Votre ami est merveilleux ! S'il vous plaît-._ "

“ _Arrétez!_ ” Phil cries out, laughing a lot for some reason. “ _Il ne comprend pas, et de toute façon il n'est pas interessé! S'il vous plaît, laissez nous juste acheter notre repas.”_

“ _D’accord, d’accord_ ,” the baker says, hands up in front of him as he leans away. “ _Qu’est ce-que vous desirez_?” 

Phil lets out a little sigh, eyes tracking over Dan’s face for a moment. Dan’s about to ask if Phil is staring at him for a reason - perhaps waiting for him to order - but then he looks away. 

“ _Trois cafés, s’il vous plait_.” 

 

*

“Should I be worried about what just happened in there?” Dan asks as he and Phil make their way back to the park, sandwiches and coffees in a little bag on Phil’s arm. 

Phil smirks to himself; a private joke dancing across his brain. “Maybe you should brush up on your French.” 

“I understood a little bit,” Dan says unsurely. “I think.”

Oddly, Phil’s eyes go wide. He pauses in his tracks, staring at Dan. “Really? Like what?”

“Well...” Dan says, struggling. “I think I heard... ‘ _amis_ ’. That means friend, right?”

Phil smiles, shoulders releasing the tension they’d been holding. “Yep!” He continues walking, glancing at Dan every now and again. “Anything else?”

“Well... I don’t know if this is right but...” Dan’s brow creases, sure he must have misheard. “Did you say ‘ _jolie_ ’?”

Phil doesn’t reply for a moment, and Dan is sure he must have gotten it wrong. 

“Um, yeah, I think I did.” Phil says eventually, looking straight ahead. “I think I was talking about how pretty Paris is... or maybe the museum? I can’t remember really.”

Phil chuckles, and Dan frowns, not having picked up on any of that. 

“Wow, I didn’t get that at all.” Dan says, laughing at his own ineptitude. “I guess I’m worse at French than I thought.” 

*

It’s around half an hour after his fourth coffee of the day that Dan starts to feel himself crash. Instead of keeping him alert, this final coffee seems to have provided him with enough energy to converse about something trivial and probably nonsensical with Phil for thirty minutes or so, and then wipe him out completely. 

His eyelids droop, and he dreads the idea of standing up from this park bench, of walking somewhere else. Whatever mad, wonderful thing Phil has planned next, Dan is certain he does not have the energy for it. 

“Are you okay?” Phil asks, turning to Dan during a pause in his conversation with John. 

The three of them are sat on a bench, Phil in the middle. John, who has been reading the news on his phone for most of this lunch break, munching appreciatively on the sandwich Phil bought him, looks over at Dan, concerned. 

Dan tries to appear alert, but he can feel how sluggish his movements are becoming. “I’m good, yeah-” a yawn interrupts his sentence, somewhat embarrassingly. “Sorry. I’m just quite tired. I didn’t get much sleep last night.”

Or the night before, he thinks privately.

“Phil’s snoring keeping you awake, is it?” John asks with a chuckle. 

Phil rolls his eyes, elbowing John in the side. “Hey, I don’t snore thank you very much.” 

“He doesn’t,” Dan mumbles, his words jumbling together. He slumps back against the bench, willing his eyelids not to close. “He’s an angelic sleeper.” 

Phil coughs a laugh. “O-kay, maybe you should get a nap in, Dan.” 

Dan shakes his head. “M’fine.” 

“It’s okay,” Phil shrugs. “I was gonna see if we could squeeze a trip to the  _catacombs_  in, but if you wanna skip it then I’m sure John and I can handle the kids for a couple of hours.”

“I doubt they’ll have much incentive to run off when we’re in an underground maze of corpses, to be honest.” John adds, draining the last of his coffee. “If you want to head back and get a bit of rest before the evening, Dan, I don’t see why it would be an issue.”

“Yeah, it’s really okay,” Phil assures him, placing a hand on his shoulder. “You’ll feel better if you’re less exhausted, anyway. And you don’t want to be tired for tonight.”

“Wha’s tonight?” Dan asks, unsure. 

“Tell you what,” Phil says, grinning. “Go back and get some sleep, and I’ll let you in on the plan.”

Dan smiles weakly, already feeling his eyes closing of their own accord. “Kay. But just a couple of hours.”

Phil nods, happy with this, and the next thing Dan knows, he’s in an Uber, headed back to the hostel, all alone. 

“ _Ici, monsieur_?” The cab driver asks, pulling over to the kerb. 

Dan peers out of the window, noticing the sign that reads ‘ _L’Hotel Montparnasse_ ’, and nodding. “ _Oui, merci_.”

That’s two words he knows, at least.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You looked like you were having nice dreams,” Phil says, unmistakably curious. “Do you remember what you were dreaming about?”
> 
> Plunged back into a whirlpool of confusing images - miles of glistening white outside a classroom window, Phil’s whiteboard plastered in pastel splotches of Monet, a sea of empty desks with a murmur of chattering voices - Dan reels for a second. 
> 
> His lips tingle with the half-remembered, imaginary sensation of Phil’s pressing so softly against them. 
> 
> He doesn’t let himself meet Phil’s gaze. 
> 
> “Not really,” Dan replies.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is the link to the French translation for this chapter (again, thank you lexou-chan):
> 
> http://danfanciesphil.tumblr.com/post/169388122245/translation-of-french-chapter-6

They’re in Classroom Nine, and it’s snowing outside. Phil’s bright red kettle whistles on his desk, and Buffy scampers along the floor, weaving in between the legs of the empty desks, her little tail wagging. 

Dan is sat cross-legged on top of one of the front desks. He’s staring at Phil, who is painting  _Water Lilies_  on the whiteboard. 

“Come up and show the class how it’s done, Dan,” Phil says, turning to hold out the paintbrush towards him. 

“I-I can’t,” Dan says sorrowfully. 

Buffy barks at him, her little paws scrabbling at the legs of his desk. 

“Sure you can!” Phil says brightly. 

The paintbrush he’s holding is dripping onto the floor. Dan watches it worriedly, scared that Buffy might try and lap up the colourful puddle the paint droplets are creating. 

“No, I don’t do that anymore,” Dan says, his heart aching as he watches the smile slip off Phil’s face. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s easy, though,” Phil says, turning to splotch another water lily on the board. “I’m sure you’re heaps better than me, anyway.” 

Dan wants to tell him how wrong he is, wants to say that he could never, in a thousand years, be better than Phil at anything. He’ll always be looking up in wonder at this man, even when years have passed, and Dan’s no longer a TA, and Phil has forgotten the name Dan, or that he ever invited him over on a rainy afternoon, or took him to Paris because  _‘it would be fun if you came’_. 

Instead, he turns to look out of the window; the snow is falling so thickly now. It’s risen right up to the middle of the panes, so bright that Dan has to squint. 

“Looks like we’re stuck here for a while,” Phil says, suddenly right beside him. 

Dan turns to look at him, noticing the familiar glimmer in his eye. “Looks like it, yeah.” 

The kettle whistles louder, reaching an almost unbearably high pitch. Ignoring it completely, Phil leans in towards him, and Dan’s heart is beating so fast he’s sure he’s about to pass out. He can feel Phil’s breath, can taste the coffee he’s always drinking. His glasses knock against the bridge of Dan’s nose, and he giggles. 

“You’re so cute,” Phil tells him, right before he pushes their lips together, feather soft and so gentle Dan could be dreaming-

A hand on his shoulder. 

His  _real_  shoulder. 

\- Wait, what?

His eyes snap open, and he could drown in the disappointment he feels as the dream slips away from him. He presses his lips together, desperately chasing the glimmer of that sweet, chaste touch-

He realises, belatedly, that he is not alone. 

Phil is knelt beside the bed, watching him. He has a hand on Dan’s shoulder, and a soft smile on his face. 

“Wha?” Dan asks, leaning backwards in surprise. 

Blood fills his cheeks as the snatches of his dream dance around the edges of his half-awake mind, reminding him of the parallels of having Phil so close.

“I said you’re cute,” Phil tells him fondly. “When you’re sleeping.” 

Unable to process this statement in his current bleary state, Dan just stares at him, trying to make sense of the world when all he can see is Phil’s face, tilted and curious, an unfamiliar room blurred in the background. 

“What?” Dan asks again, and Phil laughs. 

“I wasn’t sure whether to wake you, but I thought you might be hungry if you missed dinner,” Phil explains. His palm is still warm against Dan’s shoulder; he can feel the heat threading through his whole body, radiating out to the tips of his toes. “We just got back from the catacombs, so I gave the kids half an hour to themselves, and then we’re gonna get something to eat downstairs. Do you want to come?”

Carefully, Dan moves to sit up, running a hand through his thoroughly unkempt hair. He leans on one elbow and digs into his pocket for his phone. Phil’s hand slips from his shoulder, and he just about manages to keep himself from shuddering at the sudden loss of contact. 

“What time is it?” Dan asks, even as he unlocks his phone to read it. 

“It’s about six.” Phil says unnecessarily. 

“A bit early for dinner, isn’t it?” 

“The kids are hungry,” Phil says, shrugging. “Plus we’re going out this evening, so I figured it’s best to get them fed now.” 

“Right, yeah,” Dan says, yawning. “Sorry,” he rubs his eyes with one hand. “I’m a bit  _bleugh_  still.” 

Phil chuckles. “It’s fine. It looked like you got a good sleep at least.”

Dan furrows his brow, thinking back. He’s trying to remember getting into bed, but he can’t. He notices that he’s still dressed completely, and had been laid on top of the covers, so he must’ve just collapsed the moment he got in the room. 

He flushes, feeling himself start to wake up a bit more. “Yeah, I did. Sorry about zonking out on you. That’s not very professional.” 

“Hey, we’re on holiday too,” Phil says with a grin, then stands up. “You’re allowed a siesta when you’re on holiday.” 

“I don’t think many people take siestas in France in the winter,” Dan says, but he sits up anyway, stretching his limbs. “How long was I asleep?” 

“I’d say at least three hours.” 

“Jesus,” Dan says, grimacing. “Okay, I’m awake now.”

“You looked like you were having nice dreams,” Phil says, unmistakably curious. “Do you remember what you were dreaming about?”

Plunged back into a whirlpool of confusing images -  _miles of glistening white outside a classroom window, Phil’s whiteboard plastered in pastel splotches of Monet, a sea of empty desks with a murmur of chattering voices_  - Dan reels for a second. 

His lips tingle with the half-remembered, imaginary sensation of Phil’s pressing so softly against them. 

He doesn’t let himself meet Phil’s gaze. 

“Not really,” Dan replies. 

*

Dinner passes a little more smoothly this time. Just as Phil predicted, a little getting used to things is all that the kids needed to settle down. They still talk far too loudly, and are thrown many disapproving glares from the other guests, but they keep to themselves, and scoff their terrible buffet food without complaint. 

“So, are you gonna tell me what the plan is for this evening now?” Dan asks as he sips his  _Coca-Cola Light -_ for some reason, France has something against the word ‘Diet’. 

Phil plucks an olive off his slice of pizza, and pops it in his mouth, grinning. “Guess.”

Dan rolls his eyes. “It could be literally anything, knowing you. Paddleboarding across the  _Seine_?” 

Phil shakes his head, eyes sparkling. “Nope. Think of the most touristy thing we could possibly do here.” 

A cold realisation dawns over Dan, and he shakes his head. “No, surely not.”

“Aw, come on, it’ll be fun!” Phil says, though Dan is ninety percent sure he’s not exuding as much positivity as usual. “The kids really wanted to do it.”

“I never thought I’d say this, Phil, but I’m disappointed in your lack of creativity.” 

Phil actually looks a little stung by this for a moment, but it passes quickly. Still, it’s enough to make Dan want to suck his words back up and assure Phil that it’s going to be so much fun he’s not sure he’ll be able to handle it. 

“Well,” Phil says, a bit subdued. “I guess I’ll just have to find away to entertain you, won’t I?”

*

“Wow,” Dan breathes, eyes stretching comically wide. “It’s so  _big_.”

“Easy, sir, we don’t need a replay of what happened between you and Mr Lester last night,” Jonah says, nudging Dan playfully in the side. 

Phil, who is clearly struggling to pretend he hadn’t heard that whilst hiding a laugh behind his well-timed coughing fit, walks over to stand beside him. 

“Look,” Dan says to him, blushing furiously, “I just haven’t seen it up close in a long time, and-”

“Relax, Mr Howell,” Jonah interrupts, laughing. “I’m only messin’.” 

“Jonah, will you go and see how Mr Green is getting on at the ticket booth, please?” Phil asks politely, though he’s smirking. 

Jonah grins at him, points some finger guns at them both, and runs off towards one of the giant legs of the structure, where the ticket booths are. 

“So, you’ve been here before, then,” Phil deduces, starting to walk in the direction Jonah had run; Dan falls into step with him easily. 

“When I was little, yeah,” Dan mumbles, still mortified by what just happened. “With my family.” 

“Did you go up?” 

“Only to the first floor,” Dan replies. “My little brother was with us, and he was scared of going up too high.”

Phil glances at him, surprised. “I didn’t know you had a brother.” 

Dan gives him a strange look. “Well, why would you?”

“I thought we shared all our secrets, Dan,” Phil teases, pushing their shoulders together. 

Dan laughs, but he’s still a little confused. “Well, yeah, I have a brother. Not sure it’s so much of a secret, though. It’s just never came up.” 

Phil makes a ‘hmm’ noise, as though he doesn’t quite agree. “I suppose.” He pauses, as though he’s debating whether or not to say the next thing. “But you’re also quite a private person, I think. Not like me,” Phil laughs. “I don’t stop rambling at people about all my weird thoughts and anecdotes.” 

“Maybe I just can’t get a word in edgeways,” Dan teases back, and Phil laughs, which is lovely. 

They reach the gaggle of other students, huddled around VP Green, who is handing out tickets like they’re bars of gold. 

“Look after these, alright?” He’s telling the students. “Matt! What did I just say? Take your ticket out of Joanna’s hood-”

Dan and Phil collect their tickets from John as well, and then they begin herding the kids towards the queue for the elevator. 

There are, unsurprisingly, lots of people waiting to ascend, so they’re waiting for quite some time. It’s October, so the air is pretty cold; so far it’s been manageable, but as they’re standing still, and it’s evening, the temperature is a little more difficult to bear. 

Dan tucks his chin into Phil’s scarf, very glad of it tonight. 

“So we’re going all the way up?” Dan asks, trying to keep his chattering teeth from making him incoherent. 

“Yep!” Phil replies, looking perfectly content in his dark green bomber jacket, despite it not being that thick. “Scared?”

Dan snorts, shoving his hands into his pockets, but he smirks at Phil, unable to help himself leaning towards him for some warmth. Phil, being the sweetheart that he is, doesn’t seem to mind. 

He’s about to tell Phil, somewhat haughtily, that he’s never been scared of heights, and to follow it up with a question about whether Phil has any phobias - something that would interest him greatly - but at that moment, a man wanders over, interrupting them. 

The man is clutching an enormous collection of individually wrapped red roses, and is singing loudly in a rich vibrato. It’s a French song, obviously, so Dan has absolutely no idea what he’s saying. The only clue he has is the blush on Phil’s cheeks. 

“ _Un fleur... pour ton amour?_ ” The man sings, grinning at Phil as he sways to his own melody. 

He holds out one of the roses to Phil, waggling his eyebrows. 

So, okay, Dan might be terrible at French, but even he can work that one out. He blushes at once, and a splutter of laughter erupts across the students nearby, all of whom are close enough to witness this, of course. 

“ _Oh, um, non merci, monsieur_.” Phil stammers out, forcing a laugh. 

“Aw, get ‘im a flower, sir!” Jonah calls; Dan closes his eyes, wishing the tower would just crumble down right now and squash him flat. 

When Dan eventually allows his eyes to open, the singing man is still there, and Phil has a conflicted look upon his face. Strangely, Phil steps towards the man, brow furrowed. 

“ _Combien_?” 

“ _Un euro_ ,” the man replies, still singing. “ _Une bonne affaire, non?_ ” 

“ _Oui_ ,” Phil says unexpectedly. Dan is sure he’s about to go into cardiac arrest. “ _Je vais prendre vingt-deux, s’il vous plait._ ” 

The man’s eyebrows shoot upwards, and he looks down at his armful of roses, as if reluctant to pass them. “ _Vingt-deux!_ ” 

“ _Oui_ ,” Phil says, sounding businesslike. 

He digs his wallet out of his inside pocket and hands over a twenty euro note, with two one euro coins. 

Perplexed, but silent in the face of this transaction, the man counts out twenty-two roses and hands them over to Phil. He nods at Phil with an awed expression, and steps away, armed now with only four. 

Phil turns back again, beaming now, and says, “okay, roses for anyone who can tell me a fact about the May ‘68 revolution!” 

 _Oh_ , goes something in Dan’s mind, and he curses himself for being so stupid. Obviously Phil wasn’t... he shakes his head, mind turning to other things as Phil hands out flowers to the kids shouting various things at him. 

“It was a huge flop, sir!”

“It stirred up a second wave of feminism!”

“French New Wave filmmakers made films about it!” 

Once everyone has a rose - including John, who is appearing rather pleased with himself for getting his own fact in there - Phil spins around to Dan again. 

“And you, Mr Howell?” 

Dan just smiles at him, glad that the students have become preoccupied with sniffing their roses, or using them as swords in mini battles, and have stopped staring. “I don’t know anything about the ‘68 revolution, Phil.” 

“Hmm, okay,” Phil says, pretending to be perplexed. He taps what must be the last remaining rose against his chin, thinking. “How about you just tell me another fact about Dan Howell?”

They’re approaching the elevator now, so Dan doesn’t have time to express his scorn for such a proposal. Phil is immediately distracted by gathering up the kids anyway, making sure they all pile onto the same elevator and nobody is left behind. 

He tucks the rose into his belt loop as he dons his teacher-persona, and spends the entire five minute elevator ride to the summit counting and re-counting everyone in order to make sure they’re all here. 

It’s fascinating, really, to see how Phil’s professionalism bursts out, but only at the truly important moments. Most of the time he appears so chilled out that it’s a little worrying, considering he’s in charge, but it’s things like this that prove he’s never irresponsible. Dan suspects that really, deep down, he’s always alert for these students. He cares a great deal for each one of them, after all. 

*

Dan’s been staring through the chainlink fence for around fifteen minutes. The autumnal wind whips at him, slicing through him with far more ferocity up here, but Dan doesn’t let it deter him.

Paris is a city he’s never really considered before, but laid out before him, like this, it’s utterly mesmerising. Phil had been right when he’s spoken of how Paris was laid out in a way that encouraged exploration. It’s something one wouldn’t be able to see from in its depths, but up here, at the tip of its skyline, the divisions of its different parts are obvious, and spectacular. 

The  _Seine_  cuts through it like a cord of rope, splitting it in half. The roads carefully carve out the  _arrondissements_ , each of them twinkling with life and splendour. The lights of Paris are warm and golden, shrouding it in a candle-like glow. 

“You can cross this off your list now,” Phil says, suddenly beside him. Dan startles, reminded of his dream earlier, when Phil had just apparated so close, and then-

“Yeah,” Dan chuckles, blood thrumming from the surreality of this moment. “Top of the Eiffel Tower, check.” 

“What else is on your list?” Phil asks, and Dan snorts again, shaking his head. 

“Why’re you so interested in me?” Dan asks, genuinely bewildered. “I’m honestly not that interesting. If I seem like I’m kinda closed off, it’s because there’s nothing inside, trust me.” 

“I might let that go, if it weren’t for the fact that every new thing I learn about you is even more fascinating than the last.” 

Dan rolls his eyes, but his heart pulses with warmth. “You’re ridiculous.” 

“Maybe, but you’re an enigma.” 

“ _I’m_  an enigma?” Dan almost shouts. 

Has Phil not spent any time with himself, ever? Does he not realise how infuriatingly mysterious and charismatic he makes himself? 

“You’re deliberately not answering any of my questions,” Phil points out. 

Dan, admittedly, has to concede his point. “Fine. I want to... own an art gallery. Y’know, one day.” He pauses, feeling silly. “Well, like... obviously that’s almost impossible, but... that’s the dream.” 

When Dan sneaks a look at Phil’s expression, he looks absurdly pleased. His eyes are round and bright, like he’s using them to soak in the information.

After a moment, he nods thoughtfully, turning to stare out at the illuminated, sprawling city spread out below. “That makes sense for you.” 

“You think?” Dan asks, half-joking. 

“Yeah, I could see you doing that.” Phil says, a little smile on his mouth, like he’s imagining it right before him. “A small one maybe, but with poise and elegant charm. Lots of minimalist art, quite modern, but with very selective displays - ones that you love. Ones that you struggle to let go of.” 

Dan stares at him, utterly marvelled by this response. He’s told a few people before about this pipe dream (only one or two, usually it stays at the back of his mind where it belongs) but none of them had a reaction that was anything more than “oh, cool. Not very stable financially, though.”. 

“Has anyone ever told you you’re a very insightful person?” Dan asks, wondering how Phil could have the ability to tap into his personal fantasy bank and pull out something so accurate it’s actually a little scary. 

Phil laughs, shrugging. “My grandma was a psychic. Perhaps she rubbed off on me.” 

Dan tries to think of something else to say, but before he can, Phil is reaching for something at his hip. He lifts his hand in a flourish, holding up a deep red rose in between them. 

Chuckling, because otherwise he might cry, Dan takes it. “Thanks.” He can’t think of how to respond. “Can’t believe you bought twenty-two of these just to hand them out to the kids.” 

Phil smiles knowingly, and closes his hand around Dan’s, which still holds the rose. He leans forwards, winking, and brings his mouth to Dan’s ear. 

“ _En vrai, je les ai toutes prises pour toi_ ,” Phil whispers. 

Dan has little idea what he said, but he feels the implication of it seeping into his bones. 

*

They witness a proposal, which - according to Phil - is pretty common. The girls all sigh and clutch each other, and the boys whisper stupid comments to one another, chuckling quietly. 

The proposal is a fairly standard affair. The couple in question are older, probably in their mid-forties. The man buys a bottle of champagne, much to Dan’s envy, and does the classic ‘ring in the (plastic) glass’ trick. 

She is delighted, calls him a sap, and says yes at once. Everyone claps, including Dan, Phil, John, and the class, and then it’s over. 

“That was sweet,” Dan says, for lack of anything else to add. 

Phil wrinkles his nose in distaste, which surprises Dan, since he’d definitely been whooping and clapping the loudest. “Not the way I’d do it, personally.”

Amused by this, Dan raises an eyebrow at him. “Oh, and how would you do it, Casanova Lester?” 

Phil smiles, considering this for such a long stretch of time that it’s clear he’s giving it genuine thought. 

Eventually, he says, “I think it’d depend on the person.”

“How would you propose to Mr Howell then, sir?” Jonah asks out of nowhere; Dan jumps, having been completely unaware that they were being overheard. 

Phil laughs, rolling his eyes at Jonah. Just as Dan is trying not to be too obvious about how avidly interested in Phil’s response he is, John wanders over with three champagne flutes in his hands.

Phil raises his eyebrows at the Vice Principal, Jonah’s question forgotten. 

“That lovely newly-engaged gentleman insisted on buying the entire viewing deck a glass of champagne,” John explains. 

“Alright! Let’s get crunk!” Jonah cries, sending up a roar of cheering from the students. 

“No underage drinking atop tall, rickety landmarks,” Phil calls out, and everyone makes a unanimous ‘aww’ of disappointment. “It was clearly stated in your parental guidance letters that alcohol is strictly forbidden for students on this trip.” Phil pauses, smirking slightly. “Provided that it is within my sight.”

Jonah grins at him, running immediately in the direction of the bar, followed by several of the ‘naughtier’ students. 

“Lester!” John hisses at him, scandalised. “What on earth-”

“Oh, don’t worry,” Phil says quickly, swiftly stealing two of the champagne flutes out of John’s hands. He hands one to Dan, and clinks his own against it. “They’ll never manage to get served.”

John’s shoulders sag a little, Phil’s words seeming to comfort him, but he still casts a wary glance over towards the bar. Dan just giggles, lightly sipping at his champagne as the fizz sparkles against his nose. 

*

Perhaps it’s the height, or the fact that Dan’s a little giddy from lack of proper sleep and general excitement, but the glass of champagne travels straight to his head. 

As they descend from the summit of the Eiffel Tower, all crammed into the lift once more, Dan, pressed against Phil’s side, imagines he can feel each of the champagne’s bubbles swooping through his veins, making his whole body hum. 

“Well,” Phil says once they’re back on the ground, his cheeks a little pink from the frosty air, along with the alcohol. “That was pointless, but fun.”

“Hey,” Dan replies, smiling broadly, “any activity where free champagne is involved is an instant win, in my opinion.”

Phil looks at him, eyes sweeping over Dan’s face. “Aw, look at that.” He brings his knuckle up to brush Dan’s cheek. “A rare appearance of Dan’s dimple. You must’ve enjoyed it.”  

Dan pushes him in the shoulder, blushing, but doesn’t dispute the accusation. Once John is done rounding up the kids, they fall into step together, heading back across the  _Pont D’Iena,_ the bridge over the  _Seine._

“Sir, is this where the Paris massacre happened?” Regina asks, making Phil turn in surprise. 

“A morbid thought, Regina, but yes, in a way.” Phil replies, coming to a halt. He peers over the side of the bridge, encouraging the other kids to do the same. “About five kilometres that way is the  _Pont Saint-Michel_. Can anyone remind us all why that bridge is particularly important?” 

A flurry of hands raise into the air; there’s a distinct change in atmosphere suddenly. Whereas moments ago, these teenagers had been messing around, joking and chatting as normal, there now hangs a weighty silence in the air around them. 

They appear focused and serious, hanging on Phil’s every word. Dan shudders a little, feeling the cold much more now. 

“Yes, Caoibhe?” 

“It’s where they graffiti’d that message, sir. The one about the Algerians.” 

“That’s right.” Phil says with a grim smile. “Can anyone remember what that message said?” 

The kids all look at one another, clearly at a loss. Phil takes a deep breath, casting his gaze out towards the gleaming river. 

“It said ‘ _ici on noie les Algerians_ ’,” Phil says, sounding saddened. “Which, in English, means ‘here we drown Algerians’.” He takes a pause, then turns back to the class. “Who can tell me why someone would write such a horrible message?”

“It was a jab at the cops, Mr Lester,” Bethany pipes up, her voice timid. “They killed all those Algerians in the Paris massacre in 1961, and dumped their bodies in the Seine. Then they tried to cover it up.” 

“They didn’t try, they succeeded,” Phil corrects her. “But yes, Bethany, you’re right. The public protested against the horrific massacre, and to draw attention to the cover up, they wrote that message on the  _Pont Saint-Michel_.” 

“Are they still try’na pretend like they didn’t do it, sir?” Jonah asks. “Cause that’s bollocks.”

“It’s only since 2001 that the Paris government have acknowledged the event.” Phil tells them. “But it’s a little late, if you ask me.” 

The kids all wordlessly stare out at the water, its inky surface suddenly seeming a great deal more menacing now that they’ve all been reminded of what lurks beneath. 

“Anyway,” Phil sighs, plastering on a semi-smile. “Enough of all that sad stuff for now, let’s head back, it’s getting chilly.” 

There’s not a whole lot of chatter the rest of the way home.

*

“Gosh, that was a heck of a day.” John says, sinking heavily into one of the armchairs in the hostel lobby.

He passes Dan one of the beers he’s purchased from the bar, and picks one up himself, taking a sip. 

Phil is already sat cross-legged on the sofa opposite, tapping at his phone, so Dan perches on the other end, not sure what the protocol is. 

“We crammed a lot in, yeah,” Dan says, mostly because the gap in conversation is breaching on awkward. He sips his beer politely, trying to suppress how disgusted he is by the taste of ale. “They should sleep well tonight, at least.” 

Phil looks up at the sound of Dan’s voice, and pockets his phone, expression sheepish. “Sorry,” he says, “I was just checking on my dog.”

John furrows his brow, obviously confused. 

“Buffy can text now?” Dan asks, smirking. “You’ve really stepped up her training, wow.” 

Phil laughs, his tongue pressed against his top row of teeth. “No, we start paw dexterity training  _next_  month, Dan, duh.” 

“Oh, right right,” Dan says, nodding. “How could I forget.”

John’s eyes flick between them, eyebrows still knitted. “I’m confused.”

Phil chuckles, tearing his eyes from Dan at last. 

“I just meant I was texting my brother.” Phil explains, reaching for his beer. “He’s looking after Buffy for the weekend. But I’m a concerned parent.”

“Is your brother a bad pet-guardian?” Dan asks, then sort of wishes he hadn’t. 

He can feel the beer and champagne starting to loosen his cool, revealing his desire to know everything about Phil and his family bit by bit. 

“No,” Phil says thoughtfully, swigging some beer. “But he does have the tendency to ‘forget’ that there’s a limit to how many treats she’s allowed, and things like that.”

“He spoils her,” John infers, tilting his bottle at Phil. “Sarah, my wife, is guilty of that too. She spoils our little Westie rotten.” 

“Aw, how is Willie?” Phil asks with the fond tone that suggests he’s met and grown to love John’s pet over the years they’ve known one another. 

Dan’s not sure why this idea makes him jealous, but his own green monster has never been entirely logical. 

“He’s good,” John sighs, “I can’t believe that when you first started working at the school I used to complain about how time consuming he was. Ah, to be that naive again.”

John’s head lolls backwards, and his eyes close in mock-anguish. Phil giggles at this, slurping more beer. He leans towards Dan conspiratorially. 

“John has a one year old son now,” Phil tells him, and Dan nods, catching up. 

“Wow, that must be a lot of work,” Dan comments. 

He knows nothing about young children. He knows nothing about children of any age, truthfully, which is why he is a sub-par TA at best, but he’s pretty good at winging it.

“You just wait, Dan.” John says, lowering his gaze to meet Dan’s. “Cherish this time now. Revel in the lack of nappies and sleepless nights. Appreciate your youth and freedom!”

Dan laughs, feeling a little awkward. “Right, sure, I’ll go out and do something wild and crazy to celebrate my lack of responsibility.”

“You might as well,” John says, shrugging as he sits upright. “We’re in Paris, after all. Go and dive naked into the  _Seine_. Eat ten baguettes in one sitting. Have a saucy fling with a mysterious French stranger!” 

John grins at them both, his eyelids obviously drooping. He shuffles to the edge of his seat and yawns, grabbing his bottle of beer off the table. He stands, waving to them both. 

“Night then, boys.” He says as he lopes off in the direction of the rooms. “See you bright and early!”  

There’s a strange, somewhat loaded silence in the space that follows John’s departure. Dan shifts on the sofa, grappling for something to say now that he and Phil are alone. 

Luckily, Phil gets there first.

“Are you tired?” 

Dan’s eyes fall to the way Phil’s fingers dance around the neck of his beer bottle, and he swallows, feeling his heart rate pick up for some reason. 

He tries to force a laugh out, though it sounds strange to his ears. “Uh, I should think not,” he jokes, the tips of his ears heating, “I’ve got to go out and snog a French stranger, didn’t you hear?” 

Phil stops playing with the rim of his bottle, and stares into Dan’s eyes, pinning him to the couch with that ice-blue laser gaze. 

The butterflies in Dan’s stomach awaken and swirl into a frenzy, batting their sharp wings against his abdomen. 

“I don’t think you do,” Phil says eventually, which only makes the butterflies more aggressive in their tactics. “I think you should come back to the room with me. We can play some games.” 

The only response Dan manages is a small squeak. 

“You know,” Phil says, his expression loaded with something Dan can’t identify. “Until you’re tired.”

The next few moments are a bit of a blur, but then Dan is walking behind Phil, one hand in still holding his beer, the other clasped in Phil’s, as he’s led through the hostel corridors back to their room. 


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phil waves after John as he jogs away, disappearing into the throng of tourists parading about the square. Once he’s out of sight, Phil turns his beady eye back on Dan, clearly pleased about having him alone once again. 
> 
> “Well, well,” Phil says, already sounding far too flirtatious for Dan’s poor, battered heart. “Whatever shall we do with our stolen time, Mr Howell?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Read the translation of the French here:
> 
> http://danfanciesphil.tumblr.com/post/168945769365/translation-of-french-chapter-7

“So, you really meant ‘games’, huh?” Dan says, a smile practically bursting out of him as he plays his next card. 

The corner of Phil’s mouth twitches as he surveys Dan over the top of his own splay of cards. “Obviously,” he says, eyes screaming the opposite. “Why, what did you think I meant, Daniel?” 

Dan just shakes his head in scorn at Phil’s expression of innocence, not buying it for a second. He drinks some of his leftover beer, shaking his head. 

“I hate you a bit,” Dan confesses, laying down a card. His eyes gleam. “Snap!” 

“Aw, no,” Phil sighs, noticing the missed opportunity a second too late. “Guess I’ll have to forfeit.” 

Dan blanches, dropping a couple of his cards. “Forfeit? You didn’t mention that we’d have to do forfeits.” 

Phil shrugs, smirking. He sips his beer. “Didn’t I?”

Dan narrows his eyes. “You’re actually evil, aren’t you?” 

“Hey, I’m the one who has to forfeit, not you.” Phil reminds him, grinning. “What’re you gonna have me do?” 

Dan flushes at once, and focuses on picking up his dropped cards so that he won’t appear too flustered. “What are the terms of forfeiting?” 

“How about...” Phil leans back on his hands, considering. “You can dare me to do something... or ask me anything you want.” 

Dan swallows, trying to purify his thoughts before they tumble out of his alcohol-slick mouth. He shifts, feeling warm, and struggles to think of something innocent to say.

“What’s your middle name?” Dan asks eventually, still not quite trusting himself to meet Phil’s eye. 

“Come on,” Phil says, laughing at him. “That’s what you wanna know? You can ask me  _anything_ , Dan.” 

Dan just shrugs, dragging his gaze up to Phil’s, defiant. “That’s what I wanna know.” 

Phil rolls his eyes, taking another drink. “Michael.” 

“Philip Michael Lester,” Dan says, feeling each syllable stroking over his tongue. 

Phil smirks at him, winking for what feels like the millionth time. “I like it when you say my name, Dan.” 

Reddening further, Dan throws a joker at him. “Get on with it.” 

They play for another minute or so. Distracted as he is by the flirtatious answer Phil gave moments ago, Dan misses his chance to beat Phil again. 

“Snap!” Phil cries, so eager that Dan actually jumps. “Hah, your turn to forfeit.”

“Christ, okay then.” 

“Why don’t you paint anymore?” 

Dan stares at him, thrown by the question. “Wow, diving straight into the deep end I see.” 

Phil shrugs one shoulder, his obvious curiosity pouring out of his expression. “It’s been puzzling me all day.” 

Dan clears his throat, wondering how to respond. Why on earth does Phil want to know this, he wonders. It can’t be that interesting to him. 

“I guess I just... lost my passion for it.” Dan says, shrugging. “It got to a point where I’d only draw or paint things for other people. I never actually wanted to anymore. So I stopped.” 

“When?” 

“About two years ago?” Dan says, frowning as he tries to remember. 

“That’s a shame,” Phil says, staring unashamedly at him. “I bet you're a great artist.”

Dan laughs at that. “How could you possibly know?”

“I told you, I have psychic genes,” Phil says, tapping his temple with the tip of his beer bottle. “I can tell you’re a prodigy.” 

Dan rolls his eyes, but he still feels the blush warming his cheeks. “Right,” he says. “Come on, next round.” 

The next time, Dan manages to get his ‘snap’ in just before Phil notices, and raises his beer in the air, triumphant. 

“I’m not gonna be as nice this time,” Dan warns him, feeling the alcohol beginning to push him into dangerously flirtatious territory. He tries to reel himself in a little, sitting up a bit straighter. “You got personal with me.”

Phil opens his arms wide. “Please, do your worst.”

How does everything that comes out of his mouth sound like a double entendre, Dan wonders, the blush still firmly upon his cheeks.

“What did you say to me in French?” Dan blurts. 

He’s had the question on his mind for some time now, and he can’t resist such a perfect opportunity to bring it up. He’s suddenly very appreciative of the alcohol in his blood, making everything that little bit less terrifying. 

Phil smirks at him, one eyebrow raised. “Which time?” 

Dan sends him a look of scorn. “You know.” 

“Dan, I’ve been speaking a lot of French lately.” Phil says, chuckling. “We’re in France.” 

Irritated with this attitude, Dan finds a curled up ball of paper from his bottle label on the floor, and flicks it at Phil’s head. 

“When we were at the top of the Eiffel Tower!” Dan says, like it’s obvious. Which it  _is_. “You whispered something in my ear. Don’t act like you don’t remember.” 

Phil giggles at him. “You’re an angry drunk, huh?”

“I am  _not_ drunk,” Dan insists as he peels another strip of paper off his bottle, purely so he’ll have more ammo to throw at him. “Answer me.” 

Phil sips his beer contemplatively. There’s a rosiness to his cheeks that Dan doesn’t think he remembers seeing before, but it could be down to the alcohol. 

“Remind me what we were talking about?” 

“The roses,” Dan says immediately, hyper aware of exactly what that conversation consisted of. He’s been replaying it in his mind ever since, trying to work out what sentence Phil could have felt needed to not only be whispered, but also disguised in another language. “I said that it was mental that you bought all those roses for the kids, and then you said...” 

“ _En vrai, je les ai toutes prises pour toi,_ ” Phil finishes, quietly. 

Dan waits, expectantly. His heart is drumming, so loud he’s sure Phil will be able to hear it. 

A smile appears on Phil’s lips, and he leans forwards, across the pile of cards, to bring his lips once again to Dan’s ear. 

“ _In truth, I bought them all for you._ ” 

*

Dan’s not really sure how it all got to this point, but he’s on Phil’s bed, with Phil, and it’s almost 1am. 

“Hurry up,” Phil teases, “I haven’t got all night, you know.” 

Without looking up, Dan reaches an arm out and swats Phil in the leg. “You’re the one that insisted on this, Philip.”

“Three hours later, I’m beginning to regret that,” Phil says, laughing. 

It has not been three hours. It’s been twenty minutes at most, not including the half hour (at least) of Phil’s whining at him, begging him to ‘share his gift’ as he put it. 

“Okay, I think I’m done,” Dan says with a sigh, wrinkling his nose in distaste. 

It’s not that he’s displeased with his attempt, but Dan can never look at something he’s created without zeroing in on the faults. Phil sits up eagerly, which of course renders the session over with at once, as he’s now moved out of his pose. 

Rolling his eyes at Phil’s bright-eyed, childlike excitement, Dan hands over the pad of paper. Phil had gone down to the hostel reception specifically to get something to draw on, and this single, lined pad of writing paper was all they had. 

Luckily, Dan already had a pencil in his backpack. 

He waits, expectantly, for the gushing, the typically hammed-up positivity, the false, high-pitched compliments that ring loudly with exaggeration. It’s not that Dan considers himself any huge talent, but that’s just how people tend to react to his drawing. 

He’s capable of decent shading and sketching things that actually look like what they’re supposed to, so he’s used to having people get a bit overexcited. 

But Phil stays quiet, eyes fixed to the page in front of him, eyes wide like he’s trying to absorb every last detail. His lips are pressed together, and he brings the drawing close to his face, searching it intently. 

“Is it okay?” Dan asks, mildly surprised by Phil’s silence. 

Perhaps he’s too tipsy to be drawing right now, and it actually looks awful. He hasn’t picked up a pencil in a while, after all. 

“You’re very good, Dan,” Phil says at last, voice subdued. “I wish you could see it.” 

Dan doesn’t know what to say. He drains the dregs of his beer, trying to think of a response. 

“Thanks,” he says eventually. “It’s just a sketch.” 

“Most people wouldn’t do something like this,” Phil says to him, lifting his eyes to Dan’s. “If I asked someone else to draw me... they’d just draw me.”

Dan laughs. “What are you on about? I did draw you.” 

Phil bites his lip, which sends a firework straight towards Dan’s thighs. He forces himself not to hone in on the sight. 

“You did a lot more than that,” Phil says, carefully laying the pad down on the bed between them. “You captured me.” 

Dan smiles, looking down at his drawing again. It’s true that, while a lot of portrait artists tend to opt for pure realism, Dan prefers to use artistic licence to make things a little more interesting. 

He’d wanted Phil to pose, obviously, but that was only so he could remind himself of how he carries his tall frame, or how many lines crinkle around his eyes when he smiles, or the direction his swooping fringe travels when it falls down his forehead. 

The details of Phil, which can be so easily lost to failing memory. 

He’d put the Phil in his drawing somewhere far better than this dingy, cramped hostel room. Dan had sketched him a slice of a world outside of reality, where the _Arc du Triomphe_ and the London Eye both stood on the horizon behind him. Where the coffee cup in his hand instinctively read ‘Phil Michael Lester’ and dripped the words onto his fingers. Where the sun and the stars shone down on him at once, not caring about the time of day. 

He’d gotten a little carried away, perhaps. As it turns out, drawing Phil seems to awaken his artistic side. 

“Perhaps I’ve finally found my muse,” Dan jokes, badly wanting to push the spotlight off of himself and his mediocre artistic ability. 

A slow smile spreads across Phil’s face. “I’m available for life drawing anytime.” 

*

Much to Dan’s disappointment, they eventually climb into separate beds. He’s pretty sure he’s about to die of frustration, but it doesn't matter that much, because this evening has been incredibly wonderful. 

From the other bed, Phil smiles at him. He’s removed his glasses, and his expression is softening as he drifts towards sleep. 

“Night, Dan,” he says quietly. Then, after a moment, “are you having a good time?” 

“Right now?” Dan asks, chuckling at him. 

“Mm,” Phil says, “but also in general. On this trip.” 

“Yeah,” Dan replies, feeling the truth of it warm in his gut. “It’s been fun, you were right.” 

“Even though you didn’t go out and snog a French stranger?” 

Dan smirks to himself, wondering why this particular idea has captured Phil’s attention. “There’s always tomorrow.” 

One of Phil’s eyes open, and he frowns, sleepily. “I’d rather you didn’t, Mr Howell.”

“Oh?” Dan asks, very amused. “And why might that be?” 

Phil just scrunches his face up, shaking his head a little. 

Dan waits, wondering if Phil is going to expand on his reasoning, but he remains quiet, eyes shut, and Dan eventually concludes that he must have lost him to dream. 

*

When Dan wakes in the morning, he has a dry mouth, and a mortified feeling low in his stomach as he remembers how boldly he’d acted last night. 

He staggers out of bed, noting that Phil is already up and absent (hardly a surprise) and heads for the communal bathroom, towel in hand. 

As he enters, memories of his tipsier-self plague him from left and right, taunting him. He suppresses a groan of embarrassment as he thinks about the things he said. The flirting on his behalf, exacerbated by Phil’s comments and general behaviour, was unacceptable. 

He needs to remember, in future, that Phil acts the way he does with everyone, barr the students. He’s just a flirtatious man, cheeky, and confident in his good-looks and charm. 

Dan is just another TA to him, nothing more. He’s not sure how much older Phil is, but it must be a few years at least. To him, Dan probably seems like a naive younger sibling, or perhaps even a former student. 

He sighs groggily, wiping the mirror free of condensation. 

It’s as he clears a spot that he notices the shower cubicle door opening behind him, and he braces himself for another awkward encounter with John. He straightens up, trying to think of some small-talky thing to say, when Phil walks out, and Dan evaporates in the cloud of steam emerging after him. 

He’s essentially naked barr the towel wrapped around his waist. He has another one draped over his shoulders, but it doesn’t entirely obscure his lean chest, smattered with dark hair, from Dan’s view. 

He smiles at Dan as he walks over, toothbrush in one hand. “Morning, Picasso.”

“H-hi,” Dan manages, steadfastly looking away from Phil lest he melt into a literal pile of goo on the bathroom floor. “Um, sleep well?”

“Mm, eventually,” Phil answers, winking at him. “Someone kept me up until the wee hours.” 

Dan splutters, rolling his eyes. “Funny,  _I_ don’t remember being the one insisting on playing ‘games’ until 2am.”

“Well, you do have a selective memory, Dan,” Phil teases.

Dan is just about to scrounge up what would probably have been a very weak, stammery rebuttal, but at that moment John walks into the bathroom. 

“Ah, my dynamic duo!” John cries, chipper as anything. “Up and at ‘em bright and early, that’s what I like to see.” 

“Yeah, Dan was just telling me what a morning person he is,” Phil says, aiming a mischievous smirk towards Dan in the mirror.

Dan glares at him privately via their reflections, and Phil giggles, squeezing some toothpaste onto his toothbrush. 

“Perfect!” John cries, walking over to clap Dan on the shoulder. “In that case, he can go round the rooms and wake up the students!”

Dan swallows, suddenly terrified. To a twenty-two-year-old, grumpy teenagers are enough of a menace, but grumpy teenagers unwillingly roused from their sleep early in the morning are undoubtedly much worse. 

“Oh, um, I’m not sure I’m qualified to-”

“Nonsense,” Phil cuts in, sticking the toothbrush into his mouth. “The ki’s luh you, Da’.”

Once again, Dan shoots him a glare, but it gets him nowhere; Phil just raises his eyebrows, stubborn and unmoved. Sensing that there’s little wiggle room in this area, Dan reluctantly turns back to VP Green, trying his best to conjure up a smile. 

"Right, yeah, I'll just... go do that, then." 

John beams back at him, looking expectant, so Dan gulps down his nerves as best he can, and heads towards the door of the bathroom, dreading the next fifteen minutes of his life. 

*

Somehow, Dan manages to rouse the students, though it takes a fair bit of pleading and bargaining. Jonah in particular is a difficult nut to crack; it’s only after several minutes of pounding on his door that the teen even deigns to open it. 

At the sight of Dan, ruffled and fearful, he promptly shuts it again. 

Eventually, Dan manages to lure him out of bed with promises of extra croissants, despite having little idea of how to procure them from the hostel staff. 

At breakfast, Phil laughs until tears spring into his eyes as Dan regales him with tales of each student’s reaction to him timidly telling them it was time to get up. 

“I can’t believe you made me do that, you dick,” Dan hisses at him. “They know I have no authority. I’m basically one of them!” 

Phil’s laugh dwindles, and he gazes fondly at Dan, shaking his head. “You should give yourself some more credit. The kids respect you just as much as any teacher. You just need to be a bit more confident.”

Sure that Phil is blind to the truth, Dan just rolls his eyes and steals Phil’s croissant, deciding that he deserves it far more after that ordeal.

*

The first stop of their final day in Paris is a trip to the cinéma in the basement of the  _Pompidou_ , a famous museum in  _Châtelet._

Organised in advance, Phil has arranged for a screening of a French film with English subtitles, just for their group. 

As soon as Dan hears this, he is once again struck with despair, war flashbacks pelting him from all sides as he remembers the dire frustration of sitting at the back of the class with Phil back in England, trying to focus on  _Les Quatre-Cent Coups_  when Phil was so close by, whispering in his ear and ‘accidentally’ brushing their knees at every opportunity. 

“Wha’s the film this time, sir?” Jonah asks as John hands out the tickets in the queue for the  _Pompidou_. 

“It’s called  _Cléo de Cinq à Sept_ ,” Phil replies, already beaming. Dan hides his responding smile in the material of Phil’s scarf; he’s so cute when he talks about the things he likes. “It’s another French New Wave film, this time about a beautiful popstar named Cléo. The film follows her as she wanders about Paris between 5pm and 7pm.” 

Jonah makes an ‘alright’ kind of face, and turns back to his friends. 

“What made you choose this, then?” Dan can’t help asking Phil, positively aching to watch him light up again as he talks about French Cinéma. 

He doesn’t disappoint. Phil grins at Dan, hands moving excitedly as he talks. 

“...thought the kids might enjoy it because we’ve been walking through all the areas she goes through...” Dan nods, drifting in and out of listening to Phil’s ramble, too mesmerised by the elated look on his face to focus too hard. “...really annoys me when people don’t include Agnes Varda in the collection of New Wave filmmakers, because essentially she was the mother of the whole movement-”

“Oi, Mr Lester!” Jonah interrupts, suddenly sounding rather far away. “Can you stop flirting for two seconds? We’re going in!” 

The rest of the class titter at this, their hands flying to their mouths. Phil and Dan glance up, noticing that their group has moved on significantly in the queue, and are, in fact, heading through the doors of the building. 

Shooting several apologetic looks at the rest of the queue held up behind them, they scurry towards the door. Phil sneaks Dan a ‘whoops’ sort of grin, and Dan resists the urge to smack him, just. 

*

Enduring the two hours of  _Cléo de 5 à 7_  is every bit as torturous as Dan imagines, purely because he’s once again crammed into the back row of the tiny cinema next to Phil. This time, John is on Dan’s other side, and he’s not sure whether that makes things better or worse. 

On one hand, John’s throat-clearing and constant knee-jiggling keeps Dan from descending too far into the pit of longing for the person on his left, but on the other, VP Green’s presence is a bit like having a chaperone on an awkward first date. Dan gets constant plaguing thoughts throughout the movie to do something mad like reach over and place a hand on Phil’s knee, but he manages to talk himself out of doing something so stupid, thank heavens. 

Phil is  _not interested_ , Dan reminds himself over and over.  _He’s just a flirt!_

It’s rather difficult to keep this in mind, however, when Phil is constantly leaning too close in order to watch Dan squirm, or resting their elbows against one another on their shared armrest, probably because he can see how Dan leans into the warmth. 

By the time they exit the screen, Dan’s legs are actually shaking from how tensely he’d held himself throughout the duration of the film. 

“What’d you think?” Phil chirps the first moment daylight once again filters through Dan’s irises. 

“Great,” Dan says, nodding with as much enthusiasm as he can muster. He takes a hasty step away from Phil, mostly to preserve the speck of sanity he has left. “Loved every second.”

*

The group are stood outside the  _Pompidou_ , rocking back and forth on the balls of their feet as they try to stay warm while Phil asks some probing questions about the film. 

The kids are attentive and bursting with bright, intelligent answers, which makes the whole thing a little more enjoyable, but Dan is still shivering the whole time. 

“Well I’m glad you all enjoyed that,” Phil tells the class sincerely, “that film is  definitely one of my favourites.”

“She was hot, sir,” Jonah comments, smirking. “Wish Cléo would spend a couple of hours with me, an’ all.” 

Phil rolls his eyes, and John frowns disapprovingly. 

“Great, well I’m glad you got something out of the film, Jonah.” Phil remarks; he meets Dan’s eye, and they share a smile at the ridiculousness. “So now I bet you’re wondering what’s next?”

“Another museum is it, sir?” Katie sighs over Bethany’s shoulder; they’re hugging for warmth. 

“Or up the  _Sacré Cœur_?” Bethany asks, sounding equally resigned. 

Phil smiles at them, an unmistakeable glisten in his eye. “Nope! As ever, your favourite teacher is keeping you on your toes, as I’ve actually marked the next few hours down as...” he pauses for dramatic effect, drumrolling with his index fingers against a nearby student’s shoulder. “...free time!”

The students immediately perk up at the sound of this, their excitement at once almost tangible in the cool air. 

“Now, let me just lay some basic ground rules before you run off,” Phil says, adopting his deep, authoritative tone - the one that never fails to thread itself directly underneath Dan’s skin, making him shudder. Luckily, he can blame the cold this time. “Stay in the  _Châtelet_  area.” Phil warns. “There’s lots to do around here, loads of shops and café’s, and it’s pretty touristy so there shouldn’t be a problem speaking English. If you get lost, use your phones, or  _politely_  ask a shopkeeper which way the  _Pompidou_  is. We’ll meet back here, outside the museum, in two hours. Everyone clear about that?” 

They chant a unanimous ‘ye-es, sir,’, and Phil sweeps a searching gaze across the rows of eager faces, presumably looking for any sign that someone isn’t sure of the rules. 

Finding nothing amiss, Phil slides back into his casual stance, throws his arms wide in a theatrical motion, and cries, “fly, my pretties, fly!” 

Dan chuckles at him as the kids scatter, running in groups of twos and threes in various directions. John begins calling wild safety instructions after them, making the whole thing ten times funnier. 

Dan sidles over towards Phil, wondering what the next two hours hold for the grown ups. He’s about to ask Phil this very question when John breaks into the space between them, seeming frantic. 

“Are you sure about this, Phil?” He asks, obviously unsure. “I trust your judgement, of course, but-”

“Don’t worry, John,” Phil says, his voice soothing and calm. “ _Châtelet_  is mostly pedestrianised. There are tons of novelty shops to keep them busy, and I expect that they’ll spend most of the two hours in a queue at a  _boulangerie_ , so there’s no need to fret.” 

John nods, relaxing a little at this, though his shoulders still retain some tension. “Even so, perhaps I should just... keep an eye on one or two...”

Phil smirks at John, knowingly. “On Jonah, you mean?” 

Blushing at his transparency, John attempts to stammer out a denial. 

“It’s fine, John,” Phil says, chuckling at him. He places a friendly hand on John’s upper arm. “If it gives you peace of mind, you can check what he’s up to. I expect he’ll be 'scouting the local talent’ as he puts it. He’s mentioned several times that he’s looking for a  _fille Française_ to practise his ‘foreign tongue’ on.”

Dan makes a noise of disgust, and Phil sniggers. John seems to have turned slightly green. 

“Yes, perhaps I’d better... just run along and see...” John says, already backing away in the direction Jonah had run. “I’ll... meet you both back here later!” 

Phil waves after John as he jogs away, disappearing into the throng of tourists parading about the square. Once he’s out of sight, Phil turns his beady eye back on Dan, clearly pleased about having him alone once again. 

“Well, well,” Phil says, already sounding far too flirtatious for Dan’s poor, battered heart. “Whatever shall we do with our stolen time, Mr Howell?”

*

“Stop complaining and shove it in your mouth,” Phil demands, pinkening the tips of Dan’s ears. 

“Alright, bossy,” Dan mumbles, but reaches towards the plate between them, upon which rest three brightly coloured, perfectly symmetrical macarons. 

After a moment of hesitation, soundtracked by Phil’s impatient sighing, Dan selects the bright green one. He picks it up delicately, holding the small confection between his thumb and forefinger, bringing it close to his face to inspect it. 

“What does it taste like?” Dan asks, suspicious. 

“That one’s pistachio flavour,” Phil tells him, “so I imagine it tastes like pistachio.”

Dan sends him a withering glance, then focuses back on the macaron. “I heard they’re made out of egg white,” Dan says, frowning. “Is that true?” 

“Dan, if you don’t take a bite in the next three seconds I’m going to pin you down and prise your mouth open for you.” 

“Bit kinky, but whatever,” Dan says before he can stop himself. Fearfully, he looks over to check Phil’s reaction, but thankfully he’s just giggling. “Right, okay, here goes.” 

Dan closes his eyes and sinks his teeth into the very edge of the dessert, the flaky texture of the macaron’s shell taking him by surprise. He makes a noise of astonishment, eyes fluttering open as emerald flakes fall from his lips. 

It does, in fact, taste like pistachio. He chews slowly, eyebrows lifting in surprise. 

“It’s really good,” Dan finds himself saying. 

“I can’t believe you’ve never had one before,” Phil says, still marvelling. 

Dan snorts, taking another bite. “I can’t believe you dragged me into the first _patisserie_ you saw and forced me to eat one when you found that out.” 

Phil grins at him. “Well, can you blame me? Clearly if it weren’t for me you’d never try anything new.” 

Dan balks at him. “What?”

Lifting his hand, Phil begins counting things off on his fingers. “Since we met, I've persuaded you to start watching classic French films, to come to Paris, to pick up a pencil again, to go up the Eiffel Tower, to try a macaron-”

“Alright, alright,” Dan interrupts, stuffing the rest of his macaron into his mouth. “You’ve made your point.” 

Phil smiles, plucking the pink macaron from the plate and biting into it. A speck of rose-coloured meringue rests in the middle of his bottom lip; Dan can’t help zeroing in on it, his mind wandering to the idea of capturing that lip between his own, sucking the sugar from it and-

“You clearly need me in your life,” Phil says, waking Dan from his inappropriate daydream so abruptly that he actually jumps. 

The tip of Phil’s tongue peeks out to swipe the macaron crumb from his lip.

“I’m not actually a boring twat, you know.” Dan blurts. 

Phil frowns. “I didn’t say you were.”

Dan shrugs, feeling awkward. “It’s just, I don’t usually get a lot of opportunity to do anything... out of the ordinary.” 

“Anyone could say that,” Phil counters, unexpectedly. He breaks the remainder of his macaron in half and hands one of the pieces to Dan, seemingly out of instinct. “I think what a lot of people don’t realise is that you don’t need money, or luck, or whatever else to find adventure if you really want it. The world has a deceptively boring surface. But it also has a lively, vibrant underbelly. You just have to look past the average bits, and seek out the extraordinary, y’know?” 

 _Did you escape from this mad, colourful underbelly?_ , Dan wonders, privately.  _Did you stumble accidentally into the boring surface-world, making it that little bit brighter and more magical?_

“I asked the school if I could do this trip,” Phil continues, appearing a little lost in thought now. “It’s not usually included in the Year Nine curriculum. But I wanted the kids to  _see_  Paris for themselves, to  _immerse_  themselves in the culture and be able to really  _imagine_  how the revolution occurred, and failed. I’m trying to show them how to burrow underneath the mundanity of learning about history in a classroom, because the way kids are taught nowadays can so often kill their curiosity.” Phil shrugs, playing with the remainder of his macaron. “I didn’t have to do it, but it’s so much better for them this way, don’t you think?” 

“So you’re telling me I need to learn how to seek out the extraordinary, too,” Dan concludes, smirking as he pops the piece of Phil’s pink macaron into his mouth. 

It tastes like raspberries.

Phil shakes his head, making Dan look up in surprise. “You already see it, though.” Dan just looks confusedly at him. Phil lifts an eyebrow, placing the remainder of his macaron onto his tongue. “You see it when you draw.” 

*

After sharing the final macaron (a violet, blackcurrant flavour that they unanimously agreed was the best one) and purchasing a box of them (as promised) for Teddy, Dan and Phil wander back towards the meeting area outside the  _Pompidou_. 

It’s just as Dan is preoccupied with errant thoughts about Phil’s knuckles brushing against his while they walk along, that a young woman wanders over to them, making Phil pause in his ramble about Parisian architecture. 

“ _Excusez-moi_?” She asks, her honey-coloured eyes flicking between them. “ _Est ce que vous auriez l'heure s'il vous plaît?_ ” 

“ _Oui, bien sûr_ ,” Phil answers, digging his phone out of his pocket. 

As he’s scrambling for it, Dan can’t help noticing that the woman’s eyes are fixed upon him, burrowing into the side of his face. He flushes a little under the attention, and glances at her, finding that she’s giving him an unmistakably flirtatious smile. 

She’s very pretty, Dan thinks helplessly as he takes in the sight of her. She has very long, naturally wavy brown hair, atop which she wears a burgundy, brimmed hat. 

Her clothes are typical ‘Parisian chic’, mostly black, and tight-fitting to her lithe, petite frame. She has an obvious style, and it works very well with her appearance, but to Dan, she’s little more than average. There are a thousand girls on this very street that look just like her. He’s sure that if he lost sight of her now, he wouldn’t be able to pick her out of the crowd. 

Nevertheless, her thick eyelashes flutter as he meets her gaze; in order to dispel any miscommunication, Dan turns away from her. 

“ _C’est 14h45, mademoiselle_ ,” Phil says after a moment, flashing her a polite smile. 

“ _Ah, merci_ ,” she says, barely glancing at Phil; she’s still studying Dan with an uncomfortable intensity. “ _Ton ami est très mignon. Il est timide?_ ” 

Abruptly, the smile slips from Phil’s face, his expression growing uncharacteristically cold. “ _Il ne parle pas Français_.”

“Ohhh,” the girl says, glancing back over at Dan and winking. “ _C’est dommage. J’allais lui demander son numéro_.” 

Before Dan can begin to attempt picking apart whatever she just said, Phil reaches down and grabs hold of his hand, clasping it so tightly that Dan almost pulls away from him. Then, belatedly, he realises that he’s holding Phil’s  _actual_  hand, and his heart immediately begins attempting to rocket out of his ribcage. 

He looks down at where his and Phil’s hands have incomprehensibly joined together, utterly bewildered. After a moment, he realises Phil is jabbering angrily in French at the girl stood before them, his brow creased in what appears to be anger. 

Dan’s eyes widen at the sight, and he looks at the poor girl stood before them, who is wearing a look of total astonishment, mixed with a modicum of fear. 

Dan doesn’t blame her. He has never witnessed Phil angry before, but it’s actually quite a terrifying thing to behold. Dan’s hand begins to throb a little in Phil’s ever-tightening grip, and as Phil continues to spit a stream of what sounds like rather harsh French at the girl, Dan senses that he might have to step in. 

“Phil, let’s just go, come on,” Dan says urgently, resting his other hand on Phil’s arm. “She’s not worth it, whatever she said-”

At the sound of Dan’s gentle, low voice, Phil breaks off, glancing at him mid-sentence. He holds Dan’s pleading gaze for a moment, and then his face softens, his shoulders sagging of tension. 

His fingers squeeze around Dan’s, still rather tightly, Dan can’t help noticing. 

He takes a step backwards then, away from the girl, and throws her a final, dismissive look. 

“ _Connard_ ,” the girl hisses, then turns on her heel and stalks away. 

Phil flinches at this word for some reason, and Dan regards him warily. He waits for a moment after the girl disappears from sight, wanting to give Phil a minute to gather himself. 

Inevitably however, he can’t wait any longer to ask. 

“Um, what the fuck just happened?” 

Phil takes a deep breath, and lets it out in a shuddering sigh, “she was being rude.” 

“How?” Dan asks, still dumbfounded. From what he’d worked out from her initial question, she was merely asking for the time. “What did she say?” 

Phil’s hand squeezes around his, and his mouth purses into a line. “Don’t worry.” 

It occurs to Dan then that the girl was probably being rude about him. That’s why Phil had gotten so angry - he’d been springing to Dan’s defence. 

“Okay,” Dan says quietly, rapidly wanting to forget the whole thing. He has no desire to hear the exact translation of whatever insult that awful woman had said about him. “Let’s go meet the others, then.” 

Reluctantly, and in complete silence, Phil begins walking. 

It’s not until they’re within sight of the group that Phil seems to remember to relinquish his hold on Dan’s hand. Despite the fact his fingers are cramping from Phil’s intense grip, Dan misses it the second it’s gone. 


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The adrenaline flooding through Dan’s veins just from trying to stumble through this conversation is swirling with the alcohol already lacing his blood, making everything shimmer and pulsate. Dan can feel his hands shaking, and the thud of his frantic heartbeat is practically deafening. 
> 
> He groans, cutting Phil off, and covers his eyes with his fingers. “It’s just...” Dan starts to say, no idea where he’s going with this now, “it would all be fine, wouldn’t it, if you were boring? If you were some random - admittedly hot - but, like, ordinary, worksheets and PowerPoint presentations type history teacher, with just the one language up their sleeve, and no sense of humour.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Read the translation of the French here: 
> 
> http://danfanciesphil.tumblr.com/post/169036162320/translation-of-french-chapter-8

Following the small incident with the French girl, Dan makes the decision to walk with a group of students on the way back to the hostel from  _Châtelet_ , letting John take  position at the front of the pack beside Phil, for once. 

“Did you and Mr Lester have a fight, sir?” Savannah asks, giggling. 

Dan chokes out what he hopes is a dismissive laugh, not sure how best to professionally respond. “N-no, of course not.”

“So why are you walking with us?” Lydia asks him, one perfectly shaped eyebrow raised. 

“I thought we were overdue a bonding session,” Dan jokes in a vain attempt to deflect their incessant questions. It doesn’t work. 

Lydia scoffs, rolling her eyes, and tugs on Savannah’s hand, leading her away. 

Dan shoves his hands into his pockets, trying to appear nonchalant, and walks the rest of the way on his own.  

*

“Hey, I’m sorry about earlier,” Phil says, making Dan look up from his phone. 

He’s been neglecting it for the past few days, and now he’s taking the opportunity of this short period of time between activities to scroll through his many notifications. Three texts from Tyler, one from Teddy, multiple Facebook notifications, and a missed call from his mum. 

Instead of replying to any of them, Dan locks his phone, and turns to Phil. 

“Nothing to be sorry about,” Dan says, smiling. 

Phil smiles back, but he looks a little sheepish. “I lost my cool with that girl. I don’t get annoyed very often, but that was...” he frowns, and Dan stares at the unusual downturn of his mouth. “...difficult.”

“It’s fine,” Dan says, shrugging. 

He can feel the itch of curiosity simmering beneath his skin. As much as he knows it’s probably best to remain in the dark about whatever that girl had said, he can’t help but wonder. He suppresses the urge to ask Phil about it, reminding himself that if her words had been awful enough to prompt an angry response out of Phil Lester - the most easygoing, lovely, ray of sunshine the world has ever known - then Dan can be pretty sure he doesn’t need to hear them in English. 

“Can we just... forget that happened?” Phil asks, looking hopeful. 

His blue eyes shine, wide and round; Dan wonders how anyone could possibly ever refuse him. 

“Of course! Already forgotten.”

Phil smiles in relief, his shoulders drooping. “Cool, thanks. I’m gonna go tell the kids to get ready to eat.” 

“Another early dinner?” Dan asks.

“Yeah,” Phil replies, fluttering a wink at him. “Gotta leave for the surprise at seven.”

“Surprise?” Dan asks, but Phil is already slipping out of the door. 

*

 **Tyler**  
Updates on le beefcake???

 **Tyler**  
Daniel!! Have u snogged the   
frenchie yet?!

 **Tyler**  
If u return to England without  
at least one tale of debauchery  
im not letting you back in the  
house.

Dan lets out a breathy laugh behind his hand. 

 **Dan**  
thts fine im 99% sure im gonna  
spontaneously combust before  
i get home anyway.   
we’re sharing a room  >.<'

He sighs, glancing over at the unoccupied bed beside his; his heart pangs as he considers the fact that he’ll have yet another night of trying and failing to succumb to unconsciousness beside Phil, right here, this very evening. 

He scrolls down his messages to find Teddy’s, which are likely to be a little less excruciating in nature. 

 **Teddy**  
Found any Parisian macarons  
yet?

 **Dan**  
phil forced me to try one :’)  
they’re not bad.

 **Teddy**  
hot. pls bring some home  <3

 **Dan**  
tell ur menace of a bf to   
stop texting me inappropriate  
things and we’ll see.

 **Tyler**  
do you think i don’t see what  
you two text each other?? 

Giving up on the two of them, Dan pockets his phone again, feeling it buzzing in his pocket with more texts already. He remembers that his mum phoned, but he resolves to call her tomorrow. Right now, he’s too on edge for whatever this evening’s ‘surprise’ might be. 

As if summoned by this very thought, the door opens, and Phil steps back in, still seeming a little chagrinned. 

“Ready for dinner?” 

“Cardboard pizza and raw jacket potatoes?” Dan asks, standing from the bed. “Born ready.”

*

As Dan is nibbling the crust of his second slice of terrible pizza, Phil picks up his fork and makes a show of clinking it against the side of his plastic glass. Obviously, it doesn’t make a particularly loud noise, so he couples it a “ding, ding, ding!”  

Dan stares at him amusedly, the overly crunchy pizza clawing at his throat as he attempts to swallow it. He washes it down with a gulp of Coca-Cola Light, wincing. 

“Attention, folks,” Phil calls out to the students sat around the table. He stands from his chair, holding his glass up like he’s giving a toast. “I’d like to take this opportunity to tell you all how lovely it’s been having you with me on this trip. Thank you for putting up with my geeking out about this wonderful city. I know you’re all far too cool for me, so I appreciate it.” 

“Aw, give over, sir,” Jonah calls out, making several others laugh. “You ain’t that bad.”

“Yeah, we’ve had a well great time, Mr Lester!” Joanna shouts, grinning. 

“We love your geekiness, sir, don’t worry!” 

“Some of us more than others, maybe,” Jonah adds, aiming a wink at Dan that he pretends not to see. 

“Aw, well thank you very much, guys!” Phil says, appearing genuinely touched by these comments. “I hope you’ve all managed to learn something too, even if it’s just how to order a croissant from a  _boulangerie_.” 

“I’m sure it’s been a very informative trip, and that we’ve all learned a great deal, right class?” John asks, earning himself a unanimous “ye-es, sir”. 

John smiles broadly, raising his glass to Phil’s. “How about a word of thanks to our lovely French-speaking tour guide then, everyone?” 

The class send up a hearty cheer for Phil, clapping their hands and calling their thanks out loud. Dan joins in, possibly a tad more enthusiastic than could be considered appropriate, but it doesn’t really matter. 

Phil laughs and bats his hands in the air, blushing. It’s adorable. 

Once the uproar quietens, a rosy-cheeked Phil straightens up once again, addressing the group. “Right, well, as a treat for our last night, I’ve booked us all a special surprise!” He announces, grinning. The class gasp and chatter excitedly, their hands clutching at one another. “For our final evening activity, we’re all booked onto a river cruise along the  _Seine_! I’ve hired us a boat for the night, which will be sailing us down the river for a couple of hours. There’ll be drinks and snacks available from the bar, and music playing in case you fancy a dance. So after you’ve finished eating, run upstairs and get your frocks on, then we’ll head down to the docks.” 

The class cheer animatedly, whooping and clapping. Phil grins at them all, lifting his glass in acknowledgement, and then sits back down. 

Dan stares at him in awe. “A river cruise?”

“Don’t tell me you get seasick, Dan.” 

“No, it’s just...” Dan trails off, completely mesmerised by his own thoughts of the evening ahead. Gliding along the beautiful Parisian river in the darkness, Phil at his side. 

He gulps down some Coke, trying to comprehend it.

“A bit romantic?” Phil supplies, finishing Dan’s sentence for him. “How else am I supposed to woo you, Dan? Time’s running out.”

*

“I didn’t bring anything nice to wear,” Dan complains as he drags a third meme t-shirt out of his case and discards it onto the ‘nope’ pile on his bed. “You didn’t tell me we’d be dressing up.” 

Phil laughs at him from over the top of his phone screen. “It’s not a nineteenth century ball, Dan,” he says, “you don’t need to wear anything fancy if you don’t want. I just said that because the kids like to have an excuse to glam up. Like a school disco.”

Dan frowns at him, eyes roving over his outfit. Phil has already changed in the bathroom, and he looks ravishing. He’s wearing a dark blue and black checkered shirt, buttoned up to the collar. The contrast of the colours make his eyes and onyx hair pop; it’s taking a lot out of Dan to remain collected in his presence.

He sighs in frustration as he drinks in this delicious man once again, and tries not to despair as he looks down at his discarded pile of unsuitable clothing. Why is he even bothering to attempt looking nice? In comparison to Phil Lester he’s going to look like a gangly child anyway, 

Noticing Dan’s look of dismay, Phil stands up and walks to his side. It really doesn’t help Dan to calm down at all, having Phil looking this good, this close. 

“Hey, you can borrow a shirt if you want,” Phil offers, shrugging as he places a hand on Dan’s shoulder. 

Trying his utmost not to squeak at the unexpected touch, Dan latches onto Phil’s words. “Really?”

“Yeah, of course,” Phil replies, gesturing to his own case. “Have a rifle through.”

“You’re a godsend, Lester,” Dan mutters, feeling Phil’s hand slip from his shoulder as he crosses to Phil’s bed and begins pawing through his open suitcase. He shoots Phil a grateful smile. “Thank you.”

Phil chuckles, shrugging again like it’s nothing. “Not a problem. Kind of goes against my end goal to actively  _clothe_  you, but hey ho.”

This sort of remark from Phil should come as no surprise at this point, but Dan still feels like the floor has been swept out from beneath his feet. He lets out a mildly hysterical sounding bubble of laughter, and turns his blushing gaze into Phil’s assorted shirt pile, trying to focus on the patterns.

“Anyway, I’m just gonna go and see John about the details of the boat,” Phil says, moving towards the door. “He was supposed to phone and check it was all still okay, but I forgot he can’t speak a word of French, so I imagine he might need some help.” 

Dan forces another laugh, this one sounding a touch more normal, and just nods at him in place of actual words. Phil gives a small wave, then disappears out of the door. 

Without dwelling too much on his choice, Dan selects a dark shirt from Phil’s case, grabs his towel, and runs in the direction of the bathroom for a quick shower. 

A cold one. 

*

By the time Dan has showered, dried and straightened his hair, dressed himself, and grabbed his wallet and phone, it’s almost time to leave. Phil left the room to round everyone up as Dan was still in the straightening stage, so at 6:55pm, he’s jogging down the hostel corridor to meet everyone else already gathered in the lobby. 

“Finally,” Jonah calls out, spotting Dan as he emerges, “what the heck were you doin’, sir? Strappin’ on your lingerie for later?” 

“Jonah Frank, that is not appropriate,” John snaps, glaring at the teen. 

VP Green looks rather polished this evening, Dan can’t help but notice, swiftly taking in his dark slacks and tan blazer. Phil spins on his heel then, mouth slightly parted as though he’s about to make his own comment on Dan’s late appearance, but he pauses, mouth remaining open as he sees Dan for the first time. 

Dan’s initial thought is, of course, that he’s done something stupid and embarrassing like come down without his trousers on, or with shampoo still clumped in his hair. 

He looks down at his outfit, checking, and cards his fingers through his carefully straightened locks. The weight of Phil’s gaze rests heavily on him, lingering, but he can’t figure out why. 

He raises an eyebrow as if to say ‘what’s up?’, but Phil abruptly turns from him, a strange expression on his face. 

Weird, Dan thinks, feeling far less confident in his appearance than he had when he cast a final look in the mirror a few minutes ago. 

“Right, everyone here?” Phil asks the general mob, and the students murmur a vague affirmation. “Well, if anyone’s left behind, can someone please text them now, because we’re leaving.” 

Dan pulls his (faux) leather jacket tighter around himself, comforted by the way the familiar material has shaped itself to his frame over the years. Phil’s shirt feels taut and starchy against his skin, but he likes the idea of wearing something of Phil’s, so he’s putting up with it. 

John falls into step with him as they set off out of the hostel entrance, surveying Dan with something like surprise. 

“You certainly scrub up well, don’t you!” John exclaims, patting Dan on the back. “Who’d have thought it?”

Dan laughs nervously, a little confused by this statement. He’s only wearing a shirt and skinny jeans. Sure, he spent a little extra time preening himself tonight, but it’s hardly a groundbreaking change, surely. 

“Not so bad yourself, VP Green,” Dan replies politely, to which John barks a laugh. 

“Too kind, but I rather think my days of catching anyone’s eye are behind me, Dan,” he says with a sigh. “The dark circles tend to send them running, nowadays.”

Matthew begins shoving Jonah in the side then, angry about some unknown disagreement, and John steps forwards to intervene, leaving Dan alone again. 

Not particularly wanting to be caught up in another unsettling conversation about his over-fondness for these kids’ teacher again, Dan walks swiftly to the front of the pack in order to walk with Phil. 

“Getting a bit rowdy back there,” Dan comments, jabbing a thumb over his shoulder. “Might have someone overboard tonight if we’re not careful.” 

Phil is staring at him again; he barely seems to be aware of what Dan is saying, which is bizarre. Usually Phil is such an attentive listener. 

“That shirt really suits you,” Phil says after a moment, which sends all the blood rushing into Dan’s head. His head swims a little. 

“Oh, th-thanks,” he manages, eyes falling towards his shoes. “Guess whoever bought it must have really good taste.”

Phil smiles, but it’s faint. His azure eyes track across Dan’s torso, searing a trail of fire into Dan’s flesh as they go. 

His tongue flicks out across his bottom lip; Dan almost walks straight into a lamppost, he’s so distracted by it. 

“Yeah, I guess I do,” Phil says.

*

It occurs to Dan only as he is stood on the wooden deck of a lightly rocking boat, gliding over the inky waters of the  _Seine_ , that he has never been on a river cruise before now. Once, during his Freshers Week at university, he’d attended a boat party, but as far as he remembers (that night had been a particularly messy one) that boat had never actually left the dock. 

They’ve been going along for around an hour, and Dan can’t seem to move away from the edge of the boat, mesmerised by the sight of Paris sliding by, a twinkling blur of golden light and colour, beautiful and dazzling. 

“So, has Paris captured your heart?” Phil asks, stood beside him, his fringe fluttering upwards in the cool breeze. 

A fist closes itself around Dan’s heart as he drinks in the sight of such a perfect, sweet smile, directed, bafflingly, towards him. 

“Something like that.” 

“‘ _He who contemplates the depths of Paris is seized with vertigo. Nothing is more fantastic. Nothing is more tragic. Nothing is more sublime’_ ,” Phil says, his voice taking on a theatrical tone. “Victor Hugo said that.” 

“Victor Hugo?” Dan asks, smiling fondly.

“He wrote  _Les Misérables_ ,” Phil says, “and  _The Hunchback of Notre Dame_.” 

“Hm,” Dan says, nodding. “I reckon he was onto something. Paris is definitely... overwhelming.”

The way Phil is smiling at him is starting to make Dan want to squirm. He does not feel deserving of such warm attention, especially from someone so amazing. 

“Overwhelming in a good way?” 

Dan stares into the endless chambers of Phil’s glowing blue eyes, watching the lights of the city glimmer in their depths. “Overwhelming in a wonderful way.”

There’s a pause then, their eyes sticking to one another like they’ve been frozen in position, the narrow tunnels of their gazes fused. Light hubbub echoes in the background, of the students milling around the deck, alongside the soft lapping of the water against the side of the boat. 

Eventually, Dan gathers himself, clearing his throat as he turns back to the sight of the illuminated buildings at the water’s edge. They pass under a bridge, lit up and gorgeous; dark, softened shadows caress Phil’s profile, sweeping across his porcelain skin, as though they can see how beautiful it is. As if they want to touch it for themselves. 

“Beautiful,” Dan whispers without thinking. He starts, scrambling for words. “I mean, this is beautiful. The boat, the river... You’re good at surprises.” 

“Thanks,” Phil says happily. “I love surprises.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Phil says, looking at him. “Can’t you tell?”

Dan frowns, confused. “What do you mean?”

“Well, you were a surprise,” Phil says, like it’s obvious. “You might be the best one I’ve ever had.” 

He’s never going to be used to the flirting, Dan thinks as his muscles seize up, his breath catching in his throat. Something about this time felt a little different though, Dan can’t help thinking. This time felt softer, truer. 

He shakes his head free of the absurd thought before he runs away with it. 

There’s no point entertaining the thought that Phil is doing anything other than being a flirtatious little minx, as always, just for the hell of it. 

Phil chuckles at him then, probably in response to seeing how hard Dan is concentrating. Then, he leans in, bringing his mouth to Dan’s ear.

“What would you say if I asked you to do something irresponsible with me?” 

There is no response available in Dan’s brain, short-circuited as it is by that illegal-tackle of a question, so he just gapes at Phil blankly, trying to process it. 

Phil laughs again, then grabs Dan by the forearm and drags him away from the edge, towards the cabin of the boat. 

* 

As it turns out, ‘something irresponsible’ turns out to be drinking. 

The bar on this boat is supposed to only serve soft drinks this evening, under Phil’s express instruction, but after five minutes of Phil’s charming grins and witty repartee, the bartender agrees to make an exception for the two of them. 

They get a bottle of wine between them, hidden under Phil’s jacket. After just one glass, Dan can feel the bones and muscle in his body becoming lighter, his laughs bubbling up with ease. His hands become magnets, drawn to the polars of Phil’s arms and back, seeking out his addictive warmth without permission. 

They wander around the deck, pressed against each other’s sides, sneaking dribbles of wine into their plastic cups out of sight of the kids. 

John is preoccupied in what looks like a deep conversation with the captain, so they’re able to keep their irresponsible behaviour from him, as well. Phil asks Dan a plethora of questions, about his past, about his family, about his future plans and life goals. Dan does his best to answer them, but keeps reminding Phil that there’s simply no way he could possibly give any answer that will satisfy, because he’s just not that interesting. 

Phil disagrees vehemently each time Dan says this, which is ridiculous, but it’s quite sweet too, so Dan doesn’t really mind. 

On their third loop of the deck, they find that a handful of the students have found some chairs, and arranged them in a circle beside the outer wall of the cabin, out of the path of the icy wind. The students cheer as they notice Dan and Phil strolling by, and call them over.

Propelled in no small part by their alcohol-softened, happy moods, they wander towards the group, pink-cheeked and smiling. 

“Come play a game with us, sirs,” Savannah calls out, her eyes already glinting with mischief. 

Jonah barks a laugh at this, but nods fervently in agreement. “Yeah, grab some chairs, Mr Lester.” 

A mistrust of this situation immediately cloaks itself over Dan, but he’s in too much of a good mood to really mind it. He ignores his instinct to refuse the offer, and sits in a chair Phil finds him, hands wrapped around his plastic cup, still.  

He glances at Phil as if to check this is within the rules, and Phil just shrugs at him, managing to somehow discreetly pour some more wine into his own glass, shielded by his jacket. 

He tucks the bottle beneath his arm, expertly concealing it from the kids as he sits to Dan’s right, the two of them nestled between Jonah and Bethany. 

“So, what’s the game?” Dan asks, sipping wine as casually as possible. 

“Aw, you’ll love it, sir,” Jonah grins, raising his own glass, full of something that looks suspiciously like a spirit. It can’t be though, Dan thinks in confusion. It must be apple juice. “It’s called ‘Never Have I Ever’.” 

The bottom drops out of Dan’s stomach. He turns to Phil, sat beside him, sending him a horrified glance. Phil looks weirdly nonplussed about this answer, and just shrugs at Dan, smiling. 

“Phil,” Dan hisses at him, “we can’t. Not with  _students_.”

“Come on, if it gets out of hand we can just get up and leave,” Phil says in a voice which sounds an awful lot like the alcohol is persuading him not to fully appreciate the weight of his own decisions right now. 

But partly because it’s warmer here, sat with the others out of the wind, and partly because he doesn’t want to appear a joy-kill in comparison to Phil, Dan just sits back in his chair, reluctantly accepting his fate. 

“Okay, so Katie’s starting,” Jonah declares, grinning at the girl in question. She glares at him, but sighs in acceptance. 

“Alright, never have I ever... been to Paris.” 

The group groan at Katie, rolling their eyes as they all take a sip from their glasses. Dan drinks some wine, catching Phil’s eye amusedly, both of them acknowledging the hilarity of this situation. 

This, Dan considers, is something  _truly_  irresponsible. 

“Never have I ever gotten a tattoo,” Bethany shouts out from Katie’s left. 

“What?” Dan cries out, horrified. “Aren’t you all, like, twelve?” 

Everyone splutters with laughter, including Phil. 

“Mr Howell, we’re fourteen!” Savannah cries out, indignant. 

“S’not much better,” Dan mumbles, but he’s blushing faintly. 

He glances at Phil, just in time to see him take a discreet sip of his wine. Dan’s eyes widen in shock, and he suppresses the urge to ask him aloud what the fuck kind of tattoo he has, and more importantly  _where_. 

Luckily, everyone is too distracted by Jonah gulping down his own drink to notice. 

“What have you got, Jonah?” 

“As if he has!” 

“No way could he have gotten a tat,” Matthew cries, but he doesn’t sound totally sure. 

Jonah just waggles his eyebrows at everyone, grinning. “If you wanna have a go at finding it Savannah, I’d let you.” 

Savannah rolls her eyes, grimacing, and the others chuckle. “Isn’t it time for someone else’s go?”

“It’s Mr Howell’s turn, innit?” 

Dan, who is still busy gawping at Phil in disbelief, snaps his head back to the others at the sound of his name. “Huh? Oh, right. Um,” he swallows, mind racing as he struggles to think of something appropriate. 

Phil is smirking at him behind his glass, and it isn’t helping. Every time Dan has ever played this game in the past, it has inevitably dissolved into almost cruelly specific, hyper-sexual questioning designed to get people to admit their strange kinks and embarrassing anecdotes. Not to mention, to get people wasted. 

That, for obvious reasons, should probably be avoided this time. 

“Uh, never have I ever,” Dan begins, no idea where the sentence is headed. “Thought Mr Lester was my favourite teacher.”

The others groan and cackle at this, practically falling off their chairs in order to protest.

“Mr Howell, you  _sap_ ,” someone shouts.

“Why’re  _you_  suckin’ up to him, sir? You’re not even in his class!” 

“Can you be more up his ass, Howell?” 

“Mate, you are so whipped.” 

“Alright, alright,” Dan laughs, the alcohol in his system helping him to take the comments in his stride, “you’re all drinking though, aren’t you?” 

“Yeah, and you as well, sir,” Jonah points out. 

Dan shrugs in agreement, taking a gulp of wine as well. Everyone else in the circle takes a sip, which is kind of sweet. Dan sneaks a look at Phil, who is looking rather embarrassed, but pleased. 

Phil laughs awkwardly then, but nods his thanks to the group nevertheless. “Very sweet everyone, thank you. Good to know that if you were drinking actual alcohol right now, your favour for my teaching methods would currently be getting you all plastered.” 

The others laugh, and Dan smiles at the joke, feeling warm and light. 

“Your turn now, sir,” Jonah tells Phil. 

“Hmm,” Phil says, sighing. “Never have I ever...” he sneaks a look at Dan, who   can immediately tell that he’s got something evil planned. “...secretly straightened my hair every morning for years to hide the fact I actually have curls.”

The look Dan gives Phil is one of utter betrayal. He sighs heavily, glaring, and tips a little more wine than planned into his mouth. 

The students laugh and shout their disbelief, which only makes things worse, as their astonishment only proves that Dan had, until this point, been fooling them with his painstaking straightening every day. 

“In other news, Mr Lester and I are no longer friends,” Dan announces, shooting Phil a look of pretend anger. 

Phil just laughs at him, not looking the tiniest bit sorry. He tilts his glass to Dan, and winks. 

“Boyfriends now is it, sir?” Jonah asks, laughing at his own joke. 

Dan shuts his eyes in mortification, realising a second too late that he’s being a tad too casual with Phil to be considered appropriate right now. When Dan opens his eyes, the game is moving on, thank heavens. It’s now Jonah’s turn.

Dan’s stomach immediately flips as he realises this, and he tries his best to suppress the urge to give Phil a look of anticipatory fear. 

“Okay, never have I ever...” Jonah pauses, his eyes narrowed as he sweeps his gaze across the faces in the circle, assessing. He lands on Dan, and lingers a moment longer, a slow smirk spreading over his mouth. “Had a crush on Mr Lester.” 

Oh,  _fuck_.

Every single pair of eyes in the circle turn towards him, and Dan can honestly say that he would rather the boat suddenly split in half and let him tumble in a Leonardo DiCaprio-style act of heroic sacrifice, into the depths of the  _Seine_ beneath. 

*

His head in his hands, elbows on the cool metal railing of the boat’s edge, Dan feels a gentle hand placing itself between his shoulder blades. He shudders at the unexpected touch, knowing exactly who it belongs to. 

“Dan, it’s okay,” Phil says, his voice like a soft, sandy shoreline after miles of aggressive, churning sea. 

Dan lifts his head from his hands with a great sigh, staring out into the clusters of houses and shops and bars lining the banks of the river. In his peripheral vision, he notices Phil coming to lean on the railing beside him, close enough that their elbows brush. 

He wishes, in a small sense, that Phil would move away. Every second he spends so close is only making this crush Dan can’t help harbouring that much worse. 

“Phil, this is not okay,” Dan finds himself saying. 

He’s dropped his wine glass somehow, somewhere, and he misses it suddenly. He’s certain that there was some left inside. He could use some dutch courage in order to say what he feels like he needs to, right now. 

Phil turns to face him, smiling as ever, seeing nothing amiss because he’s a big, sunny orb of optimism and cheer. 

“They’re just bored kids, don’t listen to them,” Phil says, one shoulder shrugging in dismissal. “They’re teasing you to get a reaction, but they’re just talking crap.” 

“But it’s not crap, is it Phil?” Dan almost shouts, the words bursting from deep within his chest, as though they’ve been crammed in for too long, shoved down into the depths, hidden. 

Dan can feel Phil turn his head in surprise at the outburst, but he doesn’t meet Phil’s gaze. Instead, he continues to stare stubbornly out at the shore, swallowing thickly. His hands ball into fists.

“They’re saying all that stuff because they  _know_ ,” Dan continues, hearing his own voice take on a whiny quality, but not being able to stop it. 

“They know...?” 

Dan looks skyward, wondering how much mortification one human person can physically withstand before they dissolve into a squishy pink pile of liquified sludge. 

Is he really going to have to spell this out?

“Yes,” Dan confirms, teeth gritted. “They know because I stare at you, and I laugh too loudly at your stupid puns, and my whole body goes bright red when you wink at me, or smile at me, or say anything even vaguely flirtatious.” 

“Um... I don’t know if I get what you mean-”

The adrenaline flooding through Dan’s veins just from trying to stumble through this conversation is swirling with the alcohol already lacing his blood, making everything shimmer and pulsate. Dan can feel his hands shaking, and the thud of his frantic heartbeat is practically deafening. 

He groans, cutting Phil off, and covers his eyes with his fingers. “It’s just...” Dan starts to say, no idea where he’s going with this now, “it would all be fine, wouldn’t it, if you were boring? If you were some random - admittedly hot - but, like, ordinary, worksheets and PowerPoint presentations type history teacher, with just the one language up their sleeve, and no sense of humour.” 

Dan can feel Phil’s eyes boring into the side of his head, and he knows he should just shut the fuck up, because he could be ruining everything, and it’s really not worth it, but he can’t. Alcohol has always been like truth serum to Dan, has always made him too honest, has always been the key to unlock the floodgates of his closed-off personality. 

“But you’re  _not_ ,” Dan says, allowing himself one sneaky little glance at Phil’s wide-eyed expression before dragging his eyes away. “You’re exciting and intelligent and spontaneous. You’re an exceptional teacher, and you’re everyone’s favourite, including mine. And you’re too flirty, especially with me, which just makes it all so much  _worse_. You call me cute, and pretty - because I think you did say  _pretty_  to that baker - and you wink at me, and say things just to see me blush. You stand too close to me, so much, all the time, so close that it makes me think that maybe, possibly, you might...” Dan pauses. “But you  _don’t_! You never do! You just step away again, and it’s not fair, because the kids can all see it, written all over my fucking gobsmacked face, and-”

Dan’s not certain how it happens, but one moment he’s complaining, rambling at Phil, hunched over the railing, and the next he’s being pushed up against a nearby pole, Phil so close that Dan can feel the moisture on his breath.

He blinks, his sentence falling away from his lips as he stares into the impossible, never-ending oceans of Phil’s eyes. They shine with life, an excited kind of exuberance that makes them appear even brighter, even more colourful.

Dan swears he can see gold flakes flickering in their depths.

A second passes, and Dan realises he can hear the thudding of Phil’s heart, can feel Phil’s hands resting on his hips, just beneath the hem of his jacket. 

“Phil, I swear to fucking God,” Dan whispers, his heart going so fast he thinks it might be humming. “If you move away right now...” 

Phil lets out a very small little laugh, and Dan can feel the breeze of it tickle against his chin. “Then what?”

The effort it takes not to surge forwards and kiss Phil is astronomical, and Dan can feel his bones beginning to ache from it. He lets out a tiny noise of frustration, and something about it seems to ignite Phil’s reflexes. 

It’s just as Dan is really wondering if he might be about to die of yearning, that Phil leans in, closing the gap between their mouths, a few inches, and a thousand, long, exhausting, miles.  

Considering that they are standing so close, it perhaps shouldn’t feel as much of a surprise as it does, but Dan feels the shock slicing down to his core. 

The  soft give of Phil’s lips pushing against his. 

The incremental tightening of Phil’s hands against the bones of his hips. 

The overpowering warmth of his lean body, pressed in a hard line against Dan’s front. 

He loses the ability to move, or think, or react. He can only stay motionless, stupefied, as Phil kisses him, his mind a white, blank void, his joints taut. A few seconds tick by, and Dan’s brain gradually begins to turn its cogs again, just enough to propel him into the sensation of Phil’s lips, kissing back as his hands grapple for purchase around Phil’s forearms. 

It’s over in seconds. 

A kiss so fleeting, yet so charged, that it literally leaves Dan breathless. 

His lungs seize up, and he stops respiring, mouth parted in astonishment as Phil leans away. He’s smiling very slightly, a secret tucked into the whites of his eyes. 

“Dan,” he whispers, shaking his head, “do you honestly think all this is one-sided?” 

Before Dan can possibly begin unravelling that heavily knotted mess of a question, three chattering teenagers round the corner of the cabin, and Phil leaps backwards, his hands slipping from their hold on Dan’s hips. 

“Oi, oi!” Jonah calls out. 

Of course it’s Jonah, Dan thinks, eyes fluttering shut. 

“What’s all this then, sirs?” Jonah is grinning madly at them; Dan turns away from him because he simply does not trust himself to respond in any way, even in terms of body language, without making this entire situation a thousand times worse. “Havin’ a li’l snog on the Seine?” 

“Mr Howell and I are going over some curriculum matters, Jonah,” Phil says sternly, though there’s a slightly amused lilt to his voice, if Dan is not mistaken. “We can’t be spending the whole night playing silly games with you and your friends. Go and find Mr Green if you need something.” 

“Ooh, sounds like we’re interrupting something, guys,” Jonah says to Matthew and Joanna, stood beside him; Matthew lets out a low whistle. “We’ll leave you to it, sirs.”

The others snigger, hiding their laughter behind their hands, and start to walk off. Dan turns, ready to demand a thousand answers from Phil about what just happened, but before he can speak, John rounds the corner as well, bumping into Jonah and the others as he does so. 

He catches Dan’s eye, appearing exasperated, and stalks towards them. “Ah, there you both are! I’ve been going mad trying to find the two of you. I was wondering if you’d swum back to shore!” 

Dan shakes his head, dazed. “N-nope.” 

“Sorry, John,” Phil says, sounding a little hollow. “Didn’t mean to go AWOL. We’ve been... supervising Jonah and some others.” 

John sighs, glancing over at where Jonah, Matthew and Joanna all loiter nearby, still glancing over at Dan and Phil, making some rather obscene gestures when VP Green isn’t looking. 

“I see,” John says, “well, I’d appreciate a hand with Caoibhe and Regina, if you’re not busy. They both seem to be suffering with some seasickness, so...”

Dan phases John out at this point, turning as discreetly as he can to stare at Phil, who is looking at John as though he’d rather the older man dove off the side of the boat. 

“Sure, sure,” Phil murmurs distractedly as John rambles on. “Look, John, we’re more than happy to help. We’ll see you by the bathrooms to help with the sick girls in five minutes, okay?” 

“Five minutes?” John asks, bewildered as he looks between Dan and Phil. “Why, what do you need to do for five minutes?” 

A pained expression passes over Phil’s features, and he casts a brief, apologetic look at Dan, sighing. 

“Nothing,” he says through his teeth, dredging up a strained smile from somewhere. “Lead the way, John-o.”

John turns on his heel, walking briskly back the way he came, past Jonah and friends, towards the cabin of the boat. Phil falls into step behind him, maintaining a far slower pace, and Dan, still not sure what the fuck is even happening right now, shakily walks beside him. 

Once John is just out of earshot, Phil leans towards him, sending Dan’s pulse skyrocketing once again, and whispers one, solitary word. 

“Later.” 

*

Later, as it turns out, is not until the boat has docked once more, their party of teens and young adults have disembarked, and they have herded a gaggle of hyper, partied-out students back through the cobbled streets to the  _L’Hotel Montparnasse._

Try as he does to maintain a collected air of professionalism, Dan spends the hour and a half proceeding Phil kissing him in a dreamy, dumb, stupor. He finds himself unable to answer the simplest questions asked to him by students, and cannot even seem to hold himself upright for longer than a few minutes without swaying to one side, busy as he is with replaying the moment over in his mind. 

Phil, on the other hand, seems to be holding himself together rather well, from what Dan can see. He casts several loaded, meaningful glances at Dan, a thousand apologies and promises curled within the azure depths of his eyes. 

As they walk home, past the  _Champs-Élysées_ , Dan feels Phil’s fingers curl very briefly around his hand. 

But it’s gone before he knows it. 

Eventually, after what feels to Dan like years, they reach the hostel. Between the three of them, John, Phil and Dan count up the students, and send them all off towards their rooms. 

“Dan,” Phil says in a low voice. Long fingers curl around Dan’s wrist. “Why don’t you go up to the room? John and I will just make sure everyone’s packed and ready to leave.”

“Right,” Dan almost whispers, eyes glued to the hand wrapped around his arm. 

“See you upstairs,” Phil says, releasing him. 

Dan looks him in the eye, breath caught. “Okay.”

*

It seems to take hours for Phil to get back to the room. Dan doesn’t dare do anything but wait for him, legs tucked uncomfortably beneath himself on his bed, fully dressed still, right down to his shoes. 

He’s taken his jacket off, but only because the air is suddenly stifling in here, though he hasn’t noticed it until right now. His mind whirls, a rickety fairground ride caught in a high wind, its flashing novelty lights streaming through the night sky as it careers from left to right. 

He can feel the indents of Phil’s lips, moulded into his own, he’s sure. Carefully, he lets the tip of his tongue run over the thin, slightly chapped skin, tasting what’s left of him. 

His fingers drum against his leg as he replays that one moment, the moment to trump all moments, over and over. 

_Do you honestly think all this is all one-sided?_

What had Phil meant? Could he have been implying that, somehow, miraculously, he feels the same way Dan feels? Impossibly, it seems that he might even be saying he has been feeling it all along. All this time.

How is that possible?

To distract himself, lest his over-analysis drive him mad, Dan reaches into his jeans pocket and pulls out his phone. 

 **Dan**  
Ty, I think something is about  
to happen.

 **Dan**  
Help me.

He waits, staring at his phone, muttering “reply, reply, reply” under his breath. There’s no excuse for Tyler not to. That guy never has his phone more than two feet from his hand. 

Sure enough, around fifteen seconds later, Dan’s phone buzzes in his palm. Then it buzzes again. And again. 

 **Tyler**  
WHAT

 **Tyler**  
DAN OMG

 **Tyler**  
Are you about to bang him?!!

Dan’s face immediately pales, and he drops his phone on the bed. Christ, he is not prepared for this, emotionally speaking. 

 **Dan**  
I DONT KNOW

 **Tyler**  
WTF is happening??? HOw  
are you texting me??? WHAT  
HAPPENED

 **Dan**  
he kissed me

 **Tyler**  
WJHAT

 **Dan**  
We were interrupted. Now Im   
waiting in our room for him

 **Tyler**  
WHATOMGFdFFSD

 **Dan**  
TYLER DO YOU HAVE ANY  
ACTUAL ADVICE COS THIS IS  
JUST MAKING IT WORSE

 **Tyler**  
ok ok ok ummmmmm oh wow

Dan looks down at the three dots pulsating under Tyler’s response in despair. If this is Tyler’s idea of advice, he’s royally fucked. 

 **Tyler**  
ok so just breathe. he’s already   
made the move! you know he   
likes you

Trying to follow Tyler’s instructions, Dan inhales deeply, filling his lungs with some much needed oxygen. His heart is still jackhammering, but he does feel a little more clear-headed. 

 **Tyler**  
from the sounds of it he  
might try and go for it - do u   
want something to happen??

Dan swallows, trying to conjure up the  _insane_  scenario of actually getting physical with Phil Lester, the man of his (until now) very  _fictional_  daydreams. 

 **Dan**  
think i might combust but fuck  
yes i do

 **Tyler**  
then just let it happen hun! Teddy  
says use protection 

 **Tyler**  
i say have fun and tell me every fuckin   
detail bitch

Dan chuckles, unable to help himself from laughing at Tyler’s typical absurdity, and at that moment, there is the distinct sound of the door being unlocked from the outside.

Dan freezes in shock, dropping his phone onto the bed, Tyler and Teddy forgotten. He can feel the beads of sweat pearling on his brow, dampening his fringe. It will curl in the moisture, Dan thinks, irritated. But then, Phil had said once that he actually quite liked the curls. 

The door opens, and Phil steps into the room, his jacket still on. The corner of his mouth tilts upwards as he locks eyes with Dan, and he closes the door softly behind him, not once looking away. 

“Hey,” he says.

“Hi,” Dan squeaks back. 

Smiling still, Phil moves further into the room, shrugging off his jacket as he goes. He reaches into the inner pocket before discarding it onto his bed, and pulls out a half empty bottle of whiskey. 

“Look what I confiscated from Jonah,” he says, his smile growing a little wider. 

Dan’s eyes fall to the bottle, barely registering it. He tries to nod, but can’t seem to do more than jerk his chin a little. Phil chuckles lightly, then reaches down to unscrew the cap. 

“It would be irresponsible of us not to dispose of this, don’t you think?” Phil asks, taking a sip of the whiskey. Dan’s eyes hone in on the amber liquid, trickling between the purse of Phil’s lips. He takes the bottle away from his mouth, eyes glinting. “Wanna help me get rid of it?”

Before Dan can answer, Phil is moving towards him, climbing up onto Dan’s bed. In itself, this is enough to make Dan want to scream, but then Phil is hooking a leg over Dan’s thighs, straddling him, his knees settled snugly either side of Dan’s hips.

Dan chokes on his own saliva, every droplet of blood in his body rushing south as Phil settles himself comfortably in Dan’s lap. Phil looks down into Dan’s face, still amused, and takes another sip from the bottle. 

He holds the bottle out for Dan then, one eyebrow raised. Dan grabs hold of it, taking a large swig, mostly because he doubts he will be able to manage to stay coherent throughout this if he’s sober. 

Hyper-aware of how restricted his movements have become with Phil on top of him, Dan leans back as far as he can and places the bottle on the bedside table. 

He leans back up, his body thrumming with adrenaline, and then Phil kisses him, fiercely, harshly, like he can’t stop himself from swooping in and stealing the kiss from Dan’s lips. His lips are fiery with whiskey and warmth; Dan imagines he can taste every molecule, every atom that makes him up. Can feel the singing of their sister particles floating in distant galaxies, as they sense the collision of their mouths. 

It is glorious. 

He hears the cataclysmic swell of a symphony at its climax, and the lovestruck cry of a great, majestic whale. The white noise roars in his eardrums, and Dan wonders why everything is so loud, until he realises that his own heartbeat is the instrument making the cacophony.

He clutches at Phil’s arms, trying helplessly to pour as much as he can into this one joining of their mouths. His fingers claw and cling, desperate to pull him closer, despite how pressed together they already are. 

Phil is pushing him backwards, and Dan is about to fall back onto the mattress, he’s sure, but then Phil’s hands are fisting in his shirt, hauling him upright again.

Phil’s lips slide from his, peppering hard, insistent kisses across the flush of his cheek, dragging over the line of his jaw. Dan gasps as he feels the scrape of teeth, just below his ear, and then biting at the lobe, teasing and too, too much. 

“ _Ça fait des semaines_ ,” Phil whispers, sounding almost pained, “ _que j'en avais envie_.”

Dan shudders; he has little to no idea what Phil is saying, but it doesn’t even matter. He imagines he can hear the sinful tone dripping from each syllable, and it only makes everything ten times headier, more euphoric. 

“Fuck,” Dan whispers. 

In another circumstance, he might feel embarrassed at being so ineloquent in the face of Phil’s beautiful, natural slide into his second language, but right now he literally cannot think of any word that sums up his current tumult of emotions better.

“Fuck, fuck,  _fuck_ -” Dan cries out, his hands clutching at Phil’s shoulders as he feels the older man move his searching kisses to Dan’s throat. “Wait, Phil, I- AH!”

Phil pauses, having just sunk his teeth very lightly into the spot just above Dan’s collarbone. He pulls away cautiously, leaning backwards to look Dan in the eye, mildly alarmed.

“ _Ça va_?”

Dan can’t help but splutter a laugh, nodding his affirmation, though in truth he’s not totally certain. Is he really okay, right now?

“S-sorry,” he manages, somehow, to spit out. “It’s just... my neck, um, it’s- it’s really, um...”

Dan trails off, mostly because his cheeks feel like they’re about to burst into flames. 

Phil quirks an eyebrow, a slow smile spreading across his mouth. “Oh.” 

Dan doesn’t have time to respond before Phil is leaning back in towards him, sealing his lips back against the skin of his throat. Dan sucks in a sharp intake of breath, at once jerking backwards and pulling Phil close. 

He squirms as Phil begins sucking at the skin, his teeth digging in to the soft flesh; it will definitely leave a mark, Dan thinks, unable to stop a small whimper escaping. 

His neck is ridiculously sensitive, it always has been. Dan’s last girlfriend, Stephanie, had tried giving him a hickey once, whilst drunk, and she’d sucked so hard that the bruise had stayed deep, dark and ferociously noticeable for weeks. 

As Phil bites at him, just the right side of painful, teeth worrying at him as though he wants to devour Dan bit by bit, he thinks he wouldn’t care if Phil marked him permanently. 

Eventually, just as Dan’s efforts to keep his embarrassing whines under wraps begin breaking apart, Phil leans away, finding Dan’s lips again and kissing hard enough to bruise. 

“ _Tes baisers sont comme une drogue_ ,” Phil moans against his mouth, then takes Dan’s lower lip between his teeth.

Dan is sure he’s about to pass out, partly from the lack of oxygen managing to work its way between their kisses, and partly from the thrill of this, of just being immersed, so heavily, in Phil, in his touch and weight and taste. 

“Phil,” Dan whispers, dumbed. 

At that moment, like a bucket of icy  _Seine_  river water being thrown down upon their heads, a knock raps at the door, loud and even. 

Phil rears backwards from Dan, his head whirling to face the noise so fast that Dan feels a little dizzied. 

Neither of them speak. Phil turns back to Dan slowly, a look of dread passing over his face. It occurs to Dan, belatedly, that they are currently in an extremely incriminating position, in the eyes of anyone on the other side of that door. 

He meets Phil’s gaze, suddenly terrified. 

Another knock sounds, longer and more insistent this time. Phil rises from Dan’s lap, scooting off him entirely, and scrambles into a standing position beside the bed, pink-cheeked. 

He runs a hand through his hair, tugs at his rumpled shirt and fusses with his collar for a moment, before heading towards the door. Dan watches him do this, bewildered, still in a stupor; it’s only when Phil turns to give him a  _look_ , one hand on the door, that Dan realises he probably needs to sort out his appearance too. 

He smooths down his hair, hands shaking, and attempts to gather the many, many loose, tangled threads of his unravelled emotions. 

Dan casts a look around his immediate vicinity, looking for anything incriminating, and spots the bottle of whiskey, still perched on the bedside table. He grabs hold of it, tucking it out of sight, beneath the bed. 

Phil sighs in relief, nodding at him, then takes a deep breath, and pulls open the door. 

John’s raised fist sails through the air into nothing. 

“Oh!” John exclaims, straightening up. “You are awake. I thought you might’ve gone to bed already.” 

Phil forces the most pretend-sounding laugh Dan has ever heard. “Oh, um, no not yet.” 

“Best be getting those pyjamas on soon, then!” John says brightly. “Up bright and early tomorrow!” 

Phil nods, smiling at John. “Yep, we will, don’t worry.” 

“Just wanted to check the times with you,” John continues, placing a halting hand on the door as Phil inches it closed. “The bus is leaving at what time, did you say?” 

“Um...” Phil flounders, casting a look over his shoulder at Dan, clearly at a loss. 

For some reason the number springs into Dan’s otherwise blank mind. He holds up nine fingers. 

“It leaves at nine,” Phil says, turning back to John. He fakes a yawn, fanning a hand over his mouth. “Anything else, John? You’re right, we should probably get to-”

“What time should we get the kids up?” John asks, still chipper.

“Um, I- I don’t...”

“Is Dan in there too?” John asks, pushing the door open wide. 

Dan freezes in alarm, sure he’s got ‘I was just snogging Phil’ stamped across his forehead. Instead of gasping in horror however, John just smiles at him, sending a little wave from the doorway. 

Dan returns it, meekly, trying not to be too obvious about sending little ‘help’ glances at Phil, who is still stood, despairing, by the open door. 

“Ah, there he is!” John says. “What time should we send round a wake up call, d’you think, Dan? About seven-thirty? We’ve got to squeeze in breakfast for them, which we can do at about eight, and then they’ll probably be ready by nine I should think as long as they get their things together...”

John rambles on for another minute and a half, during which time Dan just nods and tries to remain calm. He focuses on regulating his breathing, his palms clammy and damp with the effort of trying to look normal. 

“Anyway!” John says at last. “I’ll leave you to it then, boys. Thanks for a lovely trip! It’s been grand! See you in the morning.” 

Then, with one final wave, he’s walking away, back down the corridor towards his room. Phil shuts the door quietly, the little click still loud enough to make Dan wince. 

Once they’re alone, Dan melts, flopping back onto his mattress, his muscles screaming in relief, released of tension. 

“Holy shit,” Dan says, blood pounding in his ears. 

Phil is being awfully silent, so Dan sits up at once, terrified that this interruption will have slapped him into sense, and that he’ll have changed his mind about whether or not it was a good idea to kiss Dan at all.  

“Phil?” Dan asks timidly, finding that his feet are wandering away from him, standing up off the bed and walking over to the door. Dan only stops when he’s standing right in front of Phil, hands balled into fists, heart pounding. “Are you okay?” 

Phil stares at him, chewing the thumbnail of his left hand. He flicks his gaze over Dan’s face once, and then steps forwards, shoving him (carefully) against the nearest wall. 

It’s delicious, tasting his lips again, and Dan welcomes them as they crash against his; the sea shore, spread wide and inviting for the turbulent, sapphire waves. 

And then, as quickly as it came, it’s over. Phil steps away, jumping backwards as if Dan’s skin is alight. Dan travels with him a few inches, not expecting the sudden loss, and then just stares in bewilderment. 

“Dan, we- we can’t,” Phil tells him, his eyebrows creased in regret. “I’m sorry, I just... we can’t. Not- not now.”

“What?” Dan blurts out, confused. 

“Dan,” Phil says, pained. His hands flap through the air, shaky and unsure. It’s so unlike him, Dan thinks, to seem this muddled. “I’m a teacher... you’re a teacher...”

“Actually-”

“Teaching assistant, whatever,” Phil cuts in. He cards a trembling hand through his hair. “The point is... we’re at  _work_  right now. Technically, I’m on duty, and so are you. What if there was an emergency? What if the kids needed... anything? I can’t be... we can’t be...” he trails off, cheeks stained with pink. “Do you see what I mean?” 

Dan lets out a sad, frustrated little “no”, but his eyes don’t match it. 

Phil sighs at him, sadly. “Trust me, I hate this as much as you do.” 

“Not possible,” Dan mutters, wondering whether Phil is actually expecting Dan to be able to go to bed right now, what with the searing, bubbling arousal still coursing through his veins. 

Phil steps towards him, hand outstretched, and then he draws it away, seeming to catch ahold of himself just in time. 

“I think I’ll, err...” Phil scratches at his head, whirling round on the spot. His eyes land on his open suitcase, and he goes to it immediately, grabbing his pyjamas. “I’ll just go and, um, change. In the bathroom.” 

He hugs the pyjamas to his chest, carefully side-stepping Dan in order to get to the door. Before he disappears into the hallway, he gives Dan one final, guilty look, coupled with one of something like longing, his lip caught between his teeth. 

The door clicks shut behind him, and Dan slides down the wall at his back, landing in a crumpled heap on the floor. 

Well, he supposes once he’s down there, his jellified legs were going to give out eventually this evening. 

*

“Can you at least sleep with me?” Dan asks, still not sure whether he’ll survive the night; he’s so frustrated he thinks he might splinter into shards at any moment,  

Phil turns to him, eyes wide. “Um...” 

“Just sleep,” Dan clarifies, reddening. “In my bed, with me. Nothing... else.” 

Phil gnaws on his lip, seeming conflicted. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”

“Why?” Dan asks, his jaw clenching. 

If he has to stare at Phil across the chasm between their separate beds after this, he thinks he might actually burst into flames. 

“You’re...” Phil sighs and sits down on his bed, pushing his glasses up his nose. “Very kissable.”

Dan blushes immediately, a smile catching him off guard as it spreads over his mouth. 

“Is that a problem?”

“Mm,” Phil replies, mouth quirking in an amused smile. “It is when I’m trying to resist you.”

“Why are you doing that, again?” 

“Not sure,” Phil chuckles. “Think it has something to do with being a responsible guardian?”

“Sounds boring.” 

“Totally.” 

There’s a silence then, loaded with their unspoken desires. Phil sighs again, sounding resigned, and he peels back the covers of his own bed, about to climb in. 

Dan can’t allow it. 

“I promise I won’t kiss you,” Dan says, urgent. “I’ll stay right up against the wall, away from you. You won’t even know I’m there.”

Phil looks at him, smirking. “I think I’d remember.”

“Please?” Dan begs, desperate now. 

He can feel his heart straining, urging Phil to say yes. His eyes widen, puppy-like, and he holds Phil’s gaze, willing his resolve to break. 

After a moment, Phil lets out a small grunt of resignation. “Okay.”

Dan can’t quite believe he won, but he doesn’t have time to feel surprised for too long, as the next minute Phil is slipping under his covers. As promised, Dan scoots right over, plastering himself against the far wall, but Phil’s hands wrap around his waist at once, pulling him in, their chests crushed against each other. 

Dan stops breathing. 

Phil’s chest is warm and solid. One of his hands is caught between them, meaning his palm is pressed to the soft cotton of Phil’s t-shirt. His heart thuds beneath Dan’s fingers, steady, but faster than it should be. 

Phil removes his hand from Dan’s waist in order to take off his glasses, and leans away for a moment to put them aside. He turns back, his arm finding its place once again, like it belongs there. 

“Just so you know,” Dan whispers as Phil moves forwards, their noses bumping softly. “I don’t think I’m going to be able to get very much sleep.” 

Phil smiles sleepily, his eyelids fluttering as if they’re seconds away from closing. “That’s okay,” he leans in, breaking his word as he closes the distance, for one, fleeting moment, between their lips. “ _Tu peux partager mes rêves._ ” 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Huge thank you to lexou-chan for teaching me all about French kissing! lmao


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Sir, why’re you wearin’ a scarf at breakfast?” Katie asks, a knowing glint in her eye
> 
> “Just, um…” Dan mutters, blushing. “Cold.”
> 
> He adjusts Phil’s scarf self-consciously, and sneaks a brief glance at Phil, who is failing to hide his own laughter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The translation of the French in this chapter can be found here:
> 
> http://danfanciesphil.tumblr.com/post/169387024220/translation-of-french-chapter-9

Dan wakes up to the sound of the door closing.

 

He blinks awake slowly, his eyes dust-caked and aching; a product of too little sleep over the past few nights. As his consciousness struggles back to the shores of reality, Dan starts to feel the waves of night-before memories lapping against his skin.

 

At first, he ignores them. He discards them as imagined fragments that ghost across his mind, sure that they must be half-remembered snippets of a very kind, wonderful dream.

 

A boat, strung with fairylights, drifting over the slick, inky surface of a dark river.

 

A bottle of red wine, so sour and dry that Dan’s mouth waters at the thought of it.

 

The taste of Phil’s silken smile. Whispered words, French and delicate, spoken between frantic kisses.

 

Dan sighs, and reaches for his phone.

 

The dream had been exceptionally sweet, this time. Is it torture, or rapture, to dream so vividly about the thing he wants, but can’t have?

 

That’s strange, Dan thinks as he focuses on his phone screen. It’s flooded with missed texts, all from Tyler and Teddy.

 

He frowns, opening them and scrolling up.

 

 **Tyler**  
K it’s been four minutes is he  
back yet?

 

 **Tyler**  
Do u think he’ll go straight for  
the kiss when he gets back

 

 **Tyler**  
lol straight

 

 **Tyler**  
dan why arent u replying

 

 **Tyler**  
OMG HE’S THERE ISNT HE

 

 **Tyler**  
ARE YUO SNOGGING HIM RN

 

Dan stops reading, eyes wide.

 

These texts are definitely not the product of a dream. Which means…

 

A key in the door. Someone’s unlocking it from the outside.

 

Dan freezes, phone in his hand. He hasn’t even had time to check his appearance in the mirror yet. But it’s too late for that, the door opens, pushed by someone’s hand.

 

Phil is sleep-rumpled and sweet, stood in the doorway. He pauses there, as if he’s been caught somehow, and blinks at Dan, owlish.

 

“Morning,” he says after a moment, his lips melting into a warm smile. It’s so filled with fondness that Dan can’t look directly at it; he turns his face towards the bedclothes, cheeks warm.

 

Could he really have managed to _kiss_ this man last night?

 

“M-morning,” Dan mumbles.

 

“I was just in the bathroom,” Phil tells him, shutting the door behind himself. “I didn’t mean to… run off.”

 

“Oh,” Dan says, nodding. “Yeah, no, it’s… I’m…you’re...”

 

The sentence (if you could call it that) falls away, unfinished. Dan can’t seem to remember how the English language works, all of a sudden.

 

Phil giggles, walking towards him. “Sorry, what was that?”

 

He falls to his knees beside the bed, his head level with Dan’s, more or less.

 

Dan laughs at himself, his whole body warming as Phil gets closer. “What, you don’t speak babbling idiot?”

 

“Just English and French, I’m afraid.”

 

Dan laughs again, small and breathy. Phil is staring at him like he’s a painting, and it’s terrifying, being the subject of a gaze so filled with admiration. Dan is sure he looks awful right now, after a fitful night’s sleep beside this marvel of a man.

 

It’s unusual to see Phil not put-together in the mornings, Dan thinks as he surveys him. He looks beautiful like this though, perhaps even more so than usual, as impossible as that seems. His hair is ruffled, and there are thin red vines winding around his upper arms - indents from the cover creases.

 

The cover creases of Dan’s bed, he realises, colouring.

 

“We’ve got to get moving, really,” Phil says in a soft, croaky voice. He reaches out a hand to push Dan’s hair off his forehead.

 

Dan shuts his eyes, conflicted. This moment is too perfect. He feels like he’ll remember it on his deathbed, decades in the future. But Phil’s words are ruining it, giving it a time limit.

 

“Alternatively,” Dan says, making Phil laugh. “You could climb back in here with me.”

 

He manages to get through the sentence without error, but in truth, even the _idea_ of Phil getting back into bed right now, while they’re both partially dressed and sober, is enough to make the bottom drop right out of Dan’s stomach.

 

Thankfully, Phil just laughs again, finding one of Dan’s hands and bringing it to his mouth. He places a soft, dry kiss on the knuckles. A _baise-main_ , Dan thinks, mesmerised, vaguely dredging up the term from a long-ago French lesson.

 

“ _J'aimerai bien_ ,” he says.

 

“You have to stop doing that,” Dan complains, dazed.

 

“Speaking French?”

 

“No, just… being so…” Dan tries to gesture to him, struggling to think of the word. “ _Charmant_.”  

 

Phil laughs, smiling at him. “No can do, I’m afraid.”

 

Then, regrettably, he starts to stand up. Dan pouts as he rises, attempting to hold on to his hand.

 

“Come on, we’ve got a hideous journey with a load of sullen teenagers ahead,” Phil says, sounding far too chipper for his own words. “And you still haven’t packed.”

 

“Um, I’ve been a little distracted…”

 

Phil winks at him, which doesn’t help anything. Sighing in frustration, Dan watches Phil bustle about the room, shoving things into his own case with abandon. With a great deal of reluctance, Dan sits up properly, and pulls the covers off himself.

 

“Do I have time for a shower?”

 

“Yes,” Phil replies, “but hurry up. We’ve got to head down to breakfast in a min.”

 

Dan nods, grabbing his towel and heading for the door. As he gets to it, he pauses, a niggling thought at the back of his mind. He turns back to Phil, gnawing his lip.

 

“So…” Dan starts, already regretting this question. “We’re like… good, right?”

 

Phil quirks an eyebrow at him. “Hm?”

 

“You and me,” Dan says carefully. “We, um… because last night- you’re not, like, regretting anything and being too lovely to tell me it was all a hideous, wine-fuelled mistake… right?”

 

For ten awful seconds, all Phil does is stare. It feels like a lot longer, and Dan wonders if perhaps he’s actually hit the nail on the head here, and Phil really is looking for a way to tell Dan it had all been a terrible idea.

 

And then, Phil walks over, his hands scooping up Dan’s chin, holding him gently as he leans in for a kiss. In comparison to the things Phil was doing with his mouth last night, it’s practically monastic, but Dan doesn’t care. The butterflies come anyway, swirling into a frenzy deep in his stomach, their tiny wings beating furiously at his spasming abdominal muscles as Phil kisses him into a new dimension.

 

He releases Dan mere moments later, but Dan feels as though his whole world has tilted on its axis, making everything slanted, so he can barely stand up straight.

 

“If it was a mistake,” Phil tells him, one finger still tracing over his jaw. “I look forward to making many, many more.”

 

*

 

After showering and dressing in the bathroom - during which time he notices a rather obvious, reddening bruise on his throat in the smeary mirror - Dan manages to catch the others at breakfast just before they all head back to their rooms to pack.

 

“Sir, why’re you wearin’ a scarf at breakfast?” Katie asks, a knowing glint in her eye

 

“Just, um…” Dan mutters, blushing. “Cold.”

 

He adjusts Phil’s scarf self-consciously, and sneaks a brief glance at Phil, who is failing to hide his own laughter.

 

“Mr Howell, you’re an alright guy, but you are a shit liar, mate,” Jonah tells him, leaning over Lloyd, sat between them, in order to keep his voice out of earshot of the rest of the class.

 

“No idea what you’re on about, Jonah,” Dan replies, not looking him in the eye. “And don’t swear.”

 

He can feel the responding eyeroll, nevertheless.

 

*

 

The coach journey is long and terrible, just as it was on the way here.

 

Dan sits beside Phil again, excruciating as it is. He’s so close, yet Dan is unable to do more than cast an occasional, ‘accidental’ hand over his knee when reaching for the flask of coffee he’d brought along.

 

By the sixth hour of travelling, Dan’s tiredness, having built up over the near-sleepless weekend, finally catches up to him, and he is dragged into dream. When he wakes up, he can hear two students behind him giggling about the fact that his head has, unconsciously, lolled onto Phil’s shoulder.

 

He pretends he’s still asleep.

 

*

 

They arrive back at the school at around seven-thirty. When Dan opens his eyes, he’s fallen sideways onto Phil’s lap, and he sits up blearily, making Phil laugh.

 

“It’s okay,” Phil tells him, amusedly. “No one saw.”

 

“Sorry,” Dan mumbles sleepily, feeling the familiar burning in his cheeks.

 

“It’s fine, I don’t mind,” Phil says. “I’ve told you before. You’re exceptionally cute when you’re sleeping.”

 

Dan casts his gaze down to his feet, blushing harder. He can still barely keep his eyes open, and Phil is being far too flirty for him to handle.

 

“Are we here?” Dan asks.

 

“Yeah, just pulling in now.” Phil replies, already sat up straight, bag and flask in hand.

 

Dan looks around himself at the mess in his immediate vicinity; he’s got sweet wrappers on his lap, (Phil had brought five packs of Starburst for the journey - Dan’s teeth feel like they’re about to fall out) his shoes are kicked off, and his bag is open by his feet, his headphones still poking out.

 

He is far from prepared to get off.

 

Not to mention, he still feels seconds away from falling back into dream.

 

The bus slows to a stop, and Dan peers out of the rain-speckled window into the darkly shrouded, but familiar, surroundings of the school parking lot. He grimaces, noting the drizzle.

 

“Home sweet home,” he mutters.

 

He misses Paris already.

 

Dan stays seated as the students file off, not bothered about being the last one to rise from his seat. Unfortunately, this means he cannot actually keep himself awake, so, rather embarrassingly, he wakes up again to Phil’s hand on his shoulder, aboard an empty bus, the students already having been handed off to their parents.

 

Phil sits down beside him again, leaning in close. “Hey,” he says quietly, tilting Dan’s chin up with his fingers. “How’re you getting home?”

 

Dan shrugs vaguely, not really able to think. “Um, bus?” He says, frowning as he struggles upright, a yawn fighting its way out of his mouth. “Yeah, bus.”

 

“What time is the next bus?”

 

“Hm, dunno,” Dan says, gathering up some sweet wrappers, his movements sluggish. “Wha’s the time?”

 

“It’s seven-forty-two.”

 

“Ugh,” Dan says, his shoulders sagging. “Forty minutes, then.”

 

Phil’s eyebrows furrow, and he frowns. “Forty? Dan that’s ages.”

 

“They come at seventeen minutes past, every hour,” Dan explains, yawning. “It’s fine, I’ll wait.”

 

“It’s raining.”

 

“I’ll wait inside the school,” Dan says.

 

“The school is closed, Dan,” Phil replies, sounding worried. “It’s late.”

 

“Ugh, then I’ll just wait in the rain. It won’t be that bad.”

 

Phil sighs at him, then runs a hand through Dan’s hair. The softness of his touch makes Dan fall into him a little, desperate to just lie down and sleep again.

 

“I think you should come home with me, Dan,” Phil whispers.

 

Dan doesn’t realise his eyes have slipped closed until they snap open again at the sound of Phil’s words. “Come home with you? To your house?”

 

Phil smiles. “Yes.”

 

“I don’t… I mean, would that be… you wouldn’t mind?”

 

Phil sighs, chewing his lip again. He seems conflicted. “I definitely do not mind, no.”

 

“M’kay,” Dan says eventually, a broad smile sweeping over his face.

 

His whole body is singing with happiness, but he’s slipping back into unconsciousness already. He forces himself to zip up his bag, and lets Phil help him off the bus. After that, all he knows is the bright, toy-littered interior of Phil’s little car, and the constant stream of white dashes, road markings, straight ahead as they speed off into the night.

 

*

 

When Dan wakes up, he’s in Phil’s car, still. He looks out of the window, and his heart sinks in disappointment.

 

“This isn’t your house.”

 

“No,” Phil sighs. “It isn’t.”

 

Dan turns to look at him. His hands are holding the steering wheel, still, despite the engine being off. He turns to fix Dan with an apologetic stare.

 

“Changed your mind?” Dan asks timidly.

 

His mind is already projecting to thoughts of where he’s stashed his key, and if Teddy and Tyler will be in tonight, and whether they’ll pounce on him for details of the trip the moment he walks through the door.

 

“More like… came to my senses,” Phil answers, and then screws his eyes shut. “No, I mean, not that I don’t want you to come over…”

 

Dan looks away, heart squeezing.

 

“Sorry,” Phil sighs again. He reaches over and places a hand on Dan’s knee. The warmth of it seems to spread all the way down to Dan’s toes. “I’m exhausted, my brain’s all goopy. That’s why I invited you over earlier, but I wasn’t thinking. I let my impulses get the better of me.”

 

Dan looks up at him, feeling the pitiful expression hanging on his own features. “But why can’t I stay with you?”

 

“Well, for one thing, you’re practically asleep anyway,” Phil tells him, the hand on his knee snaking over to wrap itself around Dan’s.

 

“I could sleep at your house,” Dan protests, feeling childish. He’s seconds away from pouting.

 

He should just get out of the car before he truly embarasses himself.

 

“We both have work in the morning,” Phil continues, smirking at Dan’s petulant attitude.

 

“I have a bag full of clothes and toiletries,” Dan argues back, not willing to let this drop, apparently, despite being bone-tired, and despite the fact Phil has already driven him home, so he’s essentially lost already.

 

“I’m sure that wouldn’t seem at all suspicious to John or the students,” Phil laughs, squeezing his fingers around Dan’s. “Us turning up together in the morning, having not slept a wink.”

 

Dan sighs, sensing defeat. Then he looks up, replaying what Phil just said.

 

“Wait, why wouldn’t we have slept?”

 

Phil raises one eyebrow at him; Dan almost faints in Phil’s plush car seat from how fast the blood rushes south in his body.

 

“That’s the… main reason I thought it’d be better not to have you round tonight,” Phil says then, quite unnecessarily Dan can’t help but think. He’s not sure, in his fragile state, that he’s going to be able to withstand Phil spelling this out for him. “You’re obviously exhausted, as am I, and we’ve both got to teach a load of kids tomorrow.”

 

“S-so?”

 

“Well, I don’t have a spare bed, Dan.”

 

“And?”

 

“And, if I had you in my house, overnight, in my bed,” Phil says, locking eyes with him. Dan thinks it’d probably be wise to look away, but he can’t. There’s something lurking within the depths of them that’s too captivating to draw back from. “You would not be getting any sleep.”

 

Dan swallows, his soul shooting out of his body for a fleeting second, skimming the rings of Saturn as it circulates the galaxy, before plunging straight back into his chest.

 

“Oh, r-right,” Dan stammers, sure his face is currently a tomato. “Well… right, I- erm. Right.”

 

Phil laughs at him, fondly, his tongue touched to the top row of his teeth. He leans in then, knocking the final piece of coherency out of Dan’s exhausted brain, and kisses him.

 

Dan whimpers, which is mortifying, obviously, but Phil doesn’t seem to mind. He just presses Dan backwards, leaning him against the passenger door. By the time he pulls away again, Dan’s vision is speckled with black dots, and he can no longer remember what the time is, nor the day, nor the year.

 

“Goodnight, Dan,” Phil says, sounding despondent about the farewell.

 

“You could just… come in,” Dan blurts, still holding onto Phil’s hand. “My flatmates… well, they’re terrible people, but we could avoid them, and-”

 

Phil steals another kiss, silencing him. He pulls away, and Dan can already tell his answer is no, just from the look in his eyes. “Dan, I want to. You have no idea, Dan. I really, really want to. But I can’t. Not tonight.”

 

“When?”

 

Phil smiles at him, one finger dancing over his jaw. “Soon. Let’s talk tomorrow.”

 

Dan bites his lip, agonised. He’s going to have to sit up, open the door, and walk out of Phil’s car, into his own house. He’s going to have to watch Phil drive away.

 

It’s going to be torture.

 

“Are you sure you can’t come in?” Dan asks, not the slightest bit hopeful.

 

Phil leans away, smiling sadly. “Buffy would never forgive me.”

 

Dan rolls his eyes, pouting. “She gets all your attention.”

 

“Don’t be jealous,” Phil laughs, “you’re both as cute as each other.”

 

“Hmmph,” Dan says, but he’s smiling. “Fine,” he sighs. His fingers curl around the door handle. “Goodnight. See you tomorrow.”

 

“Bonne nuit,” Phil says softly, and Dan opens the door.

 

Phil has to gesture madly at Dan through the closed window to remind him to retrieve his suitcase from the boot of the car, which is a little embarrassing to say the least. Luckily, Phil just seems to find it endearing, judging from the adoring look on his face.

 

And then, way too soon, he’s driving away, his red tail-lights disappearing into the darkness, gradually getting dimmer until they’re gone entirely. Dan sighs deeply, his breath coiling out in a wispy cloud of steam.

 

He tucks his chin into Phil’s scarf, and heads for his front door.

 

*

 

As expected, Tyler all but crashes into him the moment he walks in the door. It’s such a violent hug that Dan actually drops his suitcase and backpack, nearly falling to the floor. He is just not awake enough for this.

 

“Jesus!” Dan yelps as Tyler’s arms clap around him.

 

“Nope! Just me,” Tyler says into his shoulder, squeezing with all his might. “You’re back! At last! Tell me _everything_ , right now, immediately. How long did it last, what does he smell like, did you let him-”

 

“Let him get in the door first, Ty,” Teddy interrupts, yanking Tyler back by the shoulder in order to lean in for his own hug. “Hey! We missed you, come have some tea.”

 

“Guys, I appreciate the welcome, but I’m frickin knackered, so-”

 

Tyler and Teddy each take one of his hands and pull him in the direction of the kitchen, apparently not listening to his protestation for a moment. He sighs, sensing defeat, and just follows along, hoping this can be a quick cup of tea, and then bed.

 

“So,” Teddy says with a feigned nonchalance as he fills the kettle. “Good trip?”

 

Dan opens his mouth to respond, but Tyler gets there first.

 

“Oh, fuck that boring shite! You shepherded a bunch of pubescent Bieber-wannabes around the _Louvre_ or whatever.” Tyler says, rolling his eyes. “Get to the interesting bit. Did you bang the sexy teacher, or not?!”

 

Dan sighs, unable to help the smile on his face. “Sadly, no.”

 

Teddy whirls around, eyes wide. “Wait, seriously?”

 

“Hah!” Tyler cries, jabbing a finger at Teddy. “I knew it. That’ll be twenty quid, please.”

 

“What?!” Dan squeaks. “You _bet_ on it? On my sexual escapades?”

 

“Don’t take it the wrong way, Dan,” Tyler says, grinning as Teddy digs into his wallet, grumbling about unfair advantages. “We just wanted to spice things up around here. It was boring while you were gone. You provide such entertainment.”

 

“Because my life’s in shambles, you mean?” Dan grumbles, glaring at them both. “And you bet that I wouldn’t have sex with him? What the fuck, Ty?”

 

“I was in your corner, Dan,” Teddy reminds him, handing over the money to Ty. “Remember who your true friends are.”

 

Dan splutters, rolling his eyes.

 

“I just thought that maybe… you might chicken out,” Tyler shrugs, holding his twenty pound note up to the light. “You were pretty nervous....”

 

“That is not what happened.”

 

Tyler and Teddy both fix him with an unmistakably eager eye.

 

“Oh?” They say in unison.

 

Dan rolls his eyes. “He- we just decided…” Dan shifts awkwardly. “It wasn’t the right time. Not while we were both technically… working.”

 

Tyler and Teddy exchange a glance that Dan cannot work out the meaning of. They’re always doing that, Dan thinks irritably. They can communicate psychically, he’s sure. Perhaps that’s what happens after you’ve been with someone forever. It’s not like Dan would know, after all.

 

“You decided this… whilst in the middle of things?” Tyler asks, something false about his casual tone.

 

Teddy hands Dan a mug of tea, then leans against the counter beside him, curious.

 

“We were, um… interrupted.”

 

“Yeah, you told me that. I meant later, when you were back at the hostel, texting me.”

 

“No, uh,” Dan tugs at Phil’s scarf, beginning to unwrap it. It’s growing very warm in here, suddenly. “We were interrupted again, actually. By the Vice Principal, knocking on our door.”

 

Tyler and Teddy exchange another loaded look, and then both burst out laughing. Dan glares at them again, his tiredness making him that much more frustrated.

 

“Look, it obviously wasn’t the moment, okay?” Dan says, yanking the scarf off and throwing it onto a nearby chair. “I still can’t believe the two of you actually bet money on whether I’d be able to go through with it. You’re supposed to be supportive, not be total dick-”

 

“Oh my God, _what_ is that,” Tyler interrupts, grabbing hold of Dan’s shoulders so fast that Dan spills a little of his tea.

 

“Fuck, Tyler, calm down,” Dan yelps.

 

He is way too exhausted for Tyler’s excitable behaviour right now. Tyler’s eyes are looking just to the right of him, somewhere in the vicinity of his shoulder; Dan’s mind whirls, trying to think of what could be so interesting-

 

Oh, shit.

 

“It’s a fucking hickey, oh my _God_!” Tyler practically screams, deafening Dan at once. “Christ, you really were on a school trip.”

 

Teddy laughs too, leaning in close to peer at it. “Wow, it’s deep too. Did you bleed?”

 

“Fuck off,” Dan spits, struggling in Tyler’s hold. “I bruise really easily, okay? It’s nothing.”

 

“Did the kids see it?” Tyler asks, cackling. “Dear-y me, Daniel. This is shocking.”

 

“I loathe both of you, and I didn’t miss you at all.”

 

Tyler grins at him, ruffling his hair. “Sure.”

 

He leans away again, finally, and Dan slams his tea down on the counter, abandoning it as he heads for the door. He storms out, back to the front door to retrieve his bags, intending to go to bed immediately.

 

As he gathers up his stuff, he hears Teddy shout from the kitchen: “You know what would go great with this cup of tea, Dan?”

 

Dan groans, rolling his eyes, and digs into his backpack. “Fucking ungrateful little shitbox,” he says under his breath.

 

Having found what he’s looking for, Dan stalks back to the door of the kitchen and hurls the box of macarons at Teddy.

 

“Enjoy your ‘authentic’ diabetes, you pretentious asshats.”

 

Dan stalks away, dragging his stuff into his room. From over his shoulder, he hears a shout.

 

“Love you too, Dan!”

 

*

 

Dan doesn’t have any classes with Phil on Tuesdays. This fact weighs heavily on him as he rides the bus into school in the morning, well-rested but already disappointed by the lack of Phil-time up ahead.

 

An elderly woman clutching a wicker basket in her lap gazes up at him from her seat, her eyes narrowed as she smiles.

 

“Off to work, young man?”

 

Surprised by the question, Dan turns to her. He’s not used to having to speak until he gets in to work.

 

“Oh, uh, yes.”

 

He throws her a polite smile.

 

“Would you like a sweetie, dear?” She asks, reaching a shaky hand into her basket and pulling out a dark red, wrapped hard candy. “It’ll make the day go faster.”

 

“Oh,” Dan says, dithering. Is it a good idea to take candy from a stranger? Isn’t this what he’s supposed to tell kids not to do? But he can’t stand the idea of refusing this sweet old woman. So, probably misguidedly, he reaches out and takes the sweet, smiling. “Thank you.”

 

“Here,” she says, finding another one in her bag. “Give this to a friend. Brighten up their morning.”

 

“A friend?” Dan asks, still not quite with it. He takes the sweet anyway, bringing it to his nose to sniff it. It’s fruity… a particular smell he can’t quite place.

 

“Yes, dear,” she says. “To a good friend. Or a pretty girl, perhaps.”

 

Dan laughs. “What if it’s a pretty boy?”

 

The old woman blinks at him in surprise, and Dan immediately regrets his own words. He opens his mouth to retract his own statement, but the woman interrupts him, leaning forwards conspiratorially in her chair.

 

“Well, then he’d better like the taste of cherry,” she says, and winks at him.

 

As she leans away, she’s chuckling.

 

*

 

Dan doesn’t get to see Phil until lunch, because he only just makes it to school before the bell, and Mrs Pasteur asks him to help her clean up the mess from her previous class during break time.

 

He all but runs to Classroom Nine once the bell rings for lunch. Phil is inside, cleaning what looks like a diagram of a giraffe in a military tank off the whiteboard, and humming the Jurassic Park theme tune.

 

Dan pauses in the doorway, panting from the exertion of getting over here without being ambushed by any more lazy teachers. He smiles to himself, watching Phil for a moment, his heart spasming with joy in his chest as he considers the idea that this wonderful, adorable human being has kissed him before. Has told Dan that he’s cute, and that he wants to kiss him more. Lots, potentially.

 

“Hey,” Dan says once he simply can’t stand waiting a moment longer.

 

Phil whirls around at once. The first thing Dan notices is that there are cat whiskers on his face, along with a round, black nose. It looks like it’s been drawn on with sharpie.

 

“Dan!” Phil exclaims, lighting up. He puts the board wiper down, and wipes his hands on his jeans. “I was wondering if you were avoiding me.”

 

Dan scoffs, walking inside. He can feel his entire body screaming at him to just tackle Phil to the floor and kiss him. He manages to resist, just.

 

“As if I had the self-restraint,” Dan replies, making Phil grin. “Should I have brought some yarn? Or treats, perhaps.”

 

Phil cocks his head to one side, obviously confused, which just makes him look even more feline. Dan gestures to his own nose and cheeks, smiling.

 

“Oh!” Phil says with a laugh, one hand flying to his face. He blushes, and Dan feels himself melting at the sight of it. “Sorry, I was… my last class was rather animal-centric.”

 

Dan nods, managing to keep the bubble of laughter in his throat. “It suits you, weirdly.”

 

Phil fixes him with a stare then, his head tilting again as he drinks Dan in. “Thanks.”

 

Dan shifts from foot to foot, feeling stripped by the intense gaze, and casts about for something to fill the silence. Phil gets there first.

 

“Hey, close the door would you, Mr Howell.”

 

The request knocks the air out of Dan’s lungs. He pauses, rooted to the spot for a moment, and then rushes to comply.

 

The door clicks shut, and Phil’s hand is on his shoulder, spinning him around and pushing him up against the pane. Phil’s lips feel like a cool breath of fresh, clean air after hours of suffocation.

 

Dan is so pinned by Phil’s body that he can barely move, but he winds his fingers into Phil’s shirt anyway, tugging him closer. Phil kisses him until he’s dizzy from it, his lips searching and fierce, his long fingers digging into Dan’s hips.

 

Dan loses all sense of time, focused only on the scent of Sharpie-fumes, and the feeling of Phil, warm, lean and solid, pressed against Dan’s front. Eventually, after what feels like hours, Phil draws away, and Dan whimpers.

 

“Come back,” he whispers, leaning forwards in a bleary attempt to recapture Phil’s mouth again.

 

Phil chuckles, looking a little dazed as well. He falls forwards at Dan’s request, pressing a final kiss to Dan’s lips. “I missed you.”

 

“It hasn’t even been a day,” Dan laughs, as if he hasn’t been aching for Phil for every second since he drove away last night.

 

Phil swoops back in then, his answer to Dan’s rebuttal seeming to be to simply kiss him even harder, until Dan’s lungs scream with the lack of oxygen, until his lips feel tingly and numbed, his jaw aching.

 

When Phil pulls back this time, Dan just lets his skull thunk against the door behind him, spent.

 

“Oh great, now I’m a furry,” Dan says, smirking as he reaches up to trace a finger along the line of one of Phil’s whiskers.

 

Phil giggles, reaching up to play with Dan’s highly buttoned shirt collar. “Hmm, I seem to be making rather too many marks on you.”

 

“Yeah, this is not going to be easy to hide,” Dan says in a faux-stern voice, pulling the collar down in order to expose his worsening hickey. “You owe me.”

 

“You should probably look in the mirror before you leave this room, too,” Phil says around a laugh, making Dan’s brows knit together.

 

“Wait, why would I-” Dan cuts himself off with a sigh, noting the smudged black ink over Phil’s nose and left cheek. “How bad is it?”

 

Phil just laughs, pecking him on the mouth. “I’ve got some wipes you can borrow in my desk, don’t worry.”

 

“Do you also have a ten-tonne of concealer for the bruise on my neck?” Dan asks, laughing with him.

 

“Let me take you out.” Phil says, dodging this question quite nimbly, Dan thinks, as he’s entirely thrown by this.

 

“Out?”

 

“Yeah,” Phil says, eyes still trained on Dan’s mouth. “On a date.”

 

The words fold slowly into Dan’s brain, conjuring images of candlelit dinners, romantic walks along the beach, hands intertwined, Phil walking him to the door as the lamplight flickers overhead-

 

Then again, none of those cliche scenarios really seem to fit with Phil’s style.

 

“Yeah, um, of c- I mean, absolutely,” Dan chokes out. Phil’s hands are slipping into his, their fingers lacing together. “When?”

 

“Hmm,” Phil says, considering. He leans in again, kissing Dan softly, barely grazing their mouths together. “Tomorrow?”

 

For some reason, Dan’s heart sinks in disappointment. Phil seems to notice.

 

“I would say tonight,” he says, laughing. “But I’m afraid I have Buffy-related plans.”

 

“But what if I can’t wait until tomorrow?” Dan asks, tortured with the very idea.

 

Phil laughs again, nipping him on the lower lip. Dan’s heart begins palpitating.

 

“I’ll think of some way to keep you going until then.”

 

*

 

Lunch is over far too quickly in Dan’s opinion. Over the next few periods, Dan isn’t much of a helpful assistant, he’d imagine, as his mind is busy replaying the forty-five minutes he spent kissing Phil Lester behind a closed classroom door.

 

He doesn’t stop smiling all day, the stinging scent of Sharpie lingering in his nostrils, careful as he’d been to scrub every last bit off his face. His organs sing to him as they work the endorphins through his veins, buzzing as if they’re about to burst free of his skin.  

 

“Why’re you so happy today, sir?” A Year Seven student asks in fourth period, looking so befuddled that Dan wonders if he usually goes through his teaching days with a scowl on his face.

 

“Just… had a good few days, that’s all.”

 

The Year Sevens do not find this explanation anything other than ‘lame’ apparently.

 

*

Phil’s plan to ‘keep him going’ until tomorrow evening is apparently via text.

 

Almost the minute Dan walks away from him, having stopped by Classroom Nine to say goodbye after the final bell rings, Dan’s phone buzzes.

 

He draws it out, still beaming to himself as he heads down the corridor towards the exit, and laughs when he sees who has texted him.

 

 **Phil**  
very upset with u

 

 **Dan**  
oh?

 

 **Phil**  
here i am, expectantly waiting  
for a goodbye kiss  & u dont  
deliver

 

 **Dan**  
gosh how shocking

 

 **Dan**  
its almost like there were still a  
load of teenagers milling around  
ur classroom watching us

 

 **Phil**  
no excuses

 

 **Dan**  
sorry. will do better next time, sir

 

 **Phil**  
...thts kinda hot

 

Standing completely still at the bus stop on his own, Dan somehow manages to trip over his own feet after reading this.

 

*

 

Later, in bed, Dan’s phone buzzes again.

 

 **Phil**  
r u excited for our date tomorrow

 

 **Dan**  
depends. where are u taking me

 

 **Phil**  
Paris?

 

 **Phil**  
Oh wait ive done that

 

 **Phil**  
god im so smooth

 

Dan laughs, drawing his covers up to his nose. He’s already switched off the lights in an attempt to regulate his sleeping pattern, but he cannot resist the siren call of Phil messaging him. Besides, everyone knows that texting late at night is an excuse to be doubly, sometimes triply flirtatious.

 

 **Dan**  
tht just means you’re gonna have  
to one-up yourself tomorrow

 

 **Phil**  
I have to beat taking you to PARIS?

 

 **Dan**  
yup. get thinking Mr Lester

 

 **Phil**  
i think i might have to start banning u  
from calling me tht outside of the  
classroom

 

 **Phil**  
tht goes for ‘sir’ too

 

 **Dan**  
:o why?

 

For around three minutes, Dan receives no response. The texts have, until now, been coming through thick and fast, so it’s a little odd. Dan frowns at the blank space beneath his last message, the white light of his phone screen starting to smart his eyes. He switches over to Facebook for a while, scrolling through his feed.

 

Then, a new text notification flashes up at the top of his screen. He clicks on it so fast that he almost drops the phone.

 

 **Phil**  
actually u can call me Mr Lester

 

 **Phil**  
or sir

 

 **Phil**  
but only in bed

 

 **Dan**  
WHAT

 

 **Phil**  
I’m off to sleep now. Night Dan!  
xx

 

 **Phil**  
cant wait for tomorrow night x

 

 **Dan**  
i hate u i hate u i hate u HOW  
am i supposed to sleep now

 

 **Dan**  
Sleep tight, I can’t wait either xxxxxx

 

*

Somehow, the following morning, the bus actually arrives on time, and the grumpy driver doesn’t dawdle at every single stop, so Dan actually gets to the school with time to spare, for once. He rushes through the corridors, waving half-heartedly at a few students that call out greetings, and slips into the staffroom to make some coffee.

 

Attempting to make use of the years of honing his speed-activity prowess (playing video games in his university dorm when he should have been revising) Dan throws together two cups of coffee in record time, scalding himself only once, and power walks to Phil’s classroom.

 

The door is shut, so Dan kicks it lightly three times, his hands full.

 

As it opens, Dan grins, ready to push inside and greet Phil with a warm smile, freshly made coffee and a good morning kiss to make up for his sub-par goodbye yesterday - but as the door is pulled ajar, it’s not Phil’s face that peers around it.

 

It’s John’s.

 

“Good mor- oh, John!” Dan exclaims in surprise. “I mean, Mr Green. Morning, sir. How are you?”

 

“Dan,” VP Green says, frowning at him. He pulls the door open properly, his gaze dropping to the cups in Dan’s hands. “What are you doing here?”

 

Dan’s mind goes blank. He looks over John’s shoulder, to where Phil is leant against his desk, his shoulders hunched inwards, looking troubled.

 

“Oh, um,” Dan follows John’s gaze to the mugs, shrugging. He might as well tell the truth, he supposes, seeing no harm in it. “I just thought I’d bring Phil - Mr Lester - a cup of coffee.”

 

“Is that right,” John says quietly, fixing Dan with an unusually serious look.

 

He doesn’t move from the doorway, instead just staring at Dan without a word. Dan immediately feels as if he’s done something wrong, and is about to apologise profusely for whatever it could be, when John suddenly takes a step to the side, allowing him past.

 

Dan shoots him a strained smile, heart racing, and moves carefully past him into the classroom. He walks over to Phil, sensing he’s being watched as he goes, and hands Phil one of the mugs, trying to give him a private ‘what’s going on’ look. It doesn’t work; Phil is focused on John.

 

“Thanks,” Phil says, rather vaguely, which is very unlike him.

 

Normally, Phil would give him one of those syrupy smiles, the ones that melt Dan like warmed nutella. He’d tell Dan the coffee is delicious, even though it’s bitter and instant, nothing like the stuff he has at home, Dan knows.

 

“Mr Lester,” John says suddenly, his voice strange and stern. “Remember what we discussed.”

 

“Of course, VP Green,” Phil replies, subdued. His hands wrap around the mug.

 

John nods at Phil, eyes flicking between them both for a prolonged moment. Then, he turns on his heel and leaves the room.

 

Immediately, Dan’s shoulders release their tension. He feels like he’s just been held at gunpoint.

 

“What was all that about?”

 

Phil gnaws on his lip, turning to Dan with reluctance. “Dan…” he sighs deeply. “I need to talk to you about something.”

 

Like it’s leaping to Phil’s aid, the bell rings, and Phil looks up at the ceiling, exasperated.

 

“Can you meet me back here at break time?” Phil asks, looking pained.

 

Dan swallows, kind of wanting to refuse. Whatever conversation is going to occur in two hours time, he’s pretty sure he doesn’t want to hear it, judging by the look on Phil’s face.

 

On the other hand, seeing Phil, in whatever context, is better than any other meaningless, dull activity break time might provide.

 

“Yeah, sure,” Dan replies, giving him a tiny smile.

 

Phil returns it, obviously, because he’s Phil, and he’s that sort of person, but it does nothing to deter Dan’s feelings of trepidation. He heads for the door, stomach flipping, pancake-style, with anxiety, and turns back to glance at Phil once more.

 

“See you in a couple of hours,” Dan calls as Phil’s first students begin wandering through the door.

 

“Yeah,” Phil says, giving him a wave. “See you then. Thanks for the coffee.”

 

“Anytime.”


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “This isn’t fair,” Dan whispers, looking up at the ceiling to try and prevent the tears from coming. “I just got you.”
> 
> Phil presses his lips together. “If I could do something to change it, I would.” He draws his hands to his lap. “Anything. I’d do anything.”

“Sir, can you tell me how to conjugate verbs?”

 

“Hm?” Dan says, distracted.

 

He’s crouched beside a Year Eight student named Anna, a sweet young girl with a few learning disabilities. This period, he’s helping out in the Rainbow Rooms - a section of the school reserved for providing extra support to students that might need it. Anna suffers from Down Syndrome, and has dyslexia, so she’s somewhat of a regular here. Usually, aside from Phil’s classes, Dan’s absolute favourite lessons to assist in are these.

 

The kids here are all at different levels of progress, so their teacher is more of a supervisor than anything else. The students are told to get on with the work provided by teachers from their actual classes, and Dan and the other TA’s are asked to wander around the class and help with whatever they might need.

 

Soft, classical music is played to help concentration, and the classroom is decorated in soothing pastel colours, making it very aesthetically pleasing. Usually, these lessons pass by in a calm, tranquil breeze. Today however, Dan does not feel particularly relaxed. The Chopin playing is weaving under his skin, the sharp violin creeping beneath his fingernails, putting him on edge.

 

There’s a coloured-glass windchime rattling beside the open window, and the sound of the tinkling is making him cringe. He turns his attention to Anna’s workbook, trying to force himself to concentrate.

 

“I thought I’d remembered how to do it, but it’s confusing,” Anna says, sighing.

 

“Oh, right,” Dan says, refocusing. “Don’t worry, we’ll figure it out.”

 

He reads over the page, not taking anything in, and then reads it again, tutting at himself.

 

“Right, so verbs - that’s just the term we use for ‘doing words’.”

 

Anna scoffs at him. “I know _that_. I’m not stupid, Mr Howell.”

 

Dan laughs, glancing at her annoyed expression. “I know, Anna, I’m sorry. I’m the nonce here, not you. I just need to spell it out for myself sometimes.”

 

“We’re gonna be here all day at this rate,” Anna says.

 

Dan laughs again. “Hopefully not. So, um, conjugating… well, I bet you’re doing it without even realising. Think of a verb.”

 

“Break,” Anna says, unexpectedly.

 

Dan blinks at her. “Break?”

 

“Yeah,” she giggles. “It’s break-time soon. It’s the first thing I thought of.”

 

“Well, break-time is a noun…” Dan says, mind already slipping back into a panic as he considers how close break-time really is, and all that it might entail.

 

“Yes,” Anna says, exasperated. “But break is a verb, too. To break a glass. To break into dance. To break a heart.”

 

Dan swallows. “Yep, um… okay. You’re right. As usual.”

 

Anna beams proudly. “It’s like I’m teaching you today, sir.”

 

“So, how would you conjugate the verb ‘break’ if you put the pronoun ‘he’ in front of it?”

 

“He breaks,” Anna says at once. “Ohhh, I get it.”

 

Dan nods, smiling weakly. “Try and put it in a sentence.”

 

“He breaks your heart.”

 

It’s like a slap to the face.

 

“Great,” Dan grits out. “Try and write a few sentences down.”

 

*

 

Dan thinks about getting coffee again, but he knows he’d just be stalling for time. He doesn’t need to be any more caffeinated for this, anyway. He walks slowly through the halls, urging a teacher to spot him and force him to do some menial task for the next twenty minutes.

 

He doesn’t even know what it is that he’s wanting to avoid, but his gut is telling him it’s nothing good.

 

As if fate specifically told everyone to leave Dan alone today, no teachers even spare him a glance. He’s left with the full twenty minutes of free time, which has not happened in days.

 

He finds himself outside of Phil’s classroom door far too soon.

 

He knocks out of politeness, and hears a familiar voice call, “Come in!”

 

He pushes open the door. Phil is sat at his desk, frowning at his sticker-covered laptop, open before him. There are no cat whiskers on his face, today. There’s nothing zany on the whiteboard. The classroom is actually rather mess-free, unusually.

 

“Hey,” Dan says. His voice is smaller than he means it to be.

 

Phil looks up at him, closing the lid of his laptop. “Hey.”

 

Dan shifts from foot to foot, feeling awkward. How is it that just yesterday he strolled in here full of pep and happiness, and let Phil kiss him against the closed classroom door?

 

“You wanted to talk-”

 

“How are you today?” Phil interrupts, voice strained. “I didn’t get to ask, earlier.”

 

“Um,” Dan says, thrown. “Fine. Well, I’m a bit…” Dan flaps his hand in the air, a demonstration of his inner turmoil. “Can you just tell me what John said to you this morning? Before I came in.”

 

Phil’s eyes are pained, as if he’s begging Dan not to ask. Dan kind of wants to listen to those eyes, to just stall for time and exchange pleasantries until the bell rings again and they have to postpone this talk until lunch.

 

But he can’t live with the anxiety, so he stares Phil down.

 

Phil sighs, relenting.

 

“Can you… sit down?”

 

Dan takes a deep breath, and closes the door behind him. He takes one of the student chairs and pulls it up to the desk, opposite Phil. It feels strange, to sit this way. It reminds him, weirdly, that Phil is technically his boss, which is a bizarre thought, considering he’s never really acted as superior to Dan.

 

Dan sits straight and tense, waiting for Phil to speak. He doesn’t, so Dan jumps in for him.

 

“We’re not going out tonight, are we?”

 

Phil reaches up and removes his glasses, rubbing his eyes. He slides them back on, and clears his throat, looking very much like he doesn’t want to reply.

 

He drags his eyes back up to Dan, tortured. It’s unexpected, when Phil reaches across the desk for his hand, but he slips his own into it anyway, helpless to refuse.

 

“We can’t,” Phil says at last. “I-I’m so sorry, Dan. This is all my fault.”

 

He trails off, eyes fixed on their joined hands.

 

“What did John say?” Dan asks again, though he thinks, deep down, he already knows.

 

Phil sighs, shoulders slumping in defeat. “He said… apparently there’s a rumour going around amongst the students. Specifically the ones that were on the Paris trip.”

 

“Lemme guess, one student in particular?” Dan says, bitterness infiltrating his words.

 

He really will have to kill Jonah Frank at this rate.

 

“He didn’t say,” Phil says. “I don’t think it’s fair to blame any of them, though. They’re just kids.”

 

“So what’s the rumour?” Dan asks, tilting his chin up in defiance.

 

Phil looks at him, one eyebrow raised. “You know what it is, Dan.”

 

Dan just holds his gaze, needing this spelled out if he’s expected to accept it.

 

Phil sighs. “The rumour is that two of the teachers on that trip were… fraternising, let’s say.”

 

“Okay,” Dan says, brows knitting. “But why does it even matter? It wouldn’t affect anything. And we didn’t even-”

 

“It’s against school policy,” Phil interrupts, his cheeks a little pink. “That’s what John came to tell me this morning.”

 

Dan just stares at him, speechless. “It’s…”

 

“Yeah,” Phil says. He releases his hold on Dan’s hand, leaning back in his chair. He combs a hand through his hair. Dan flexes his fingers, feeling the absence of Phil’s at once. “There’s a rule about it. No romantic relationships between faculty members.”

 

“But I’m… I’m just a TA, I mean-”

 

“Doesn’t matter,” Phil cuts in. “John made it clear. It could affect our performance, and the kids’ safety, apparently, if it were true.”

 

Dan swallows hard, tears of frustration leaping into his ducts. He feels helpless, like a child being disciplined for something he hasn’t even done wrong. How can it be fair that the Universe gave him Phil on a beautiful, gilded platter… and then snatched him back again, before they’d even gotten a chance to be together, properly?

 

“What do you mean, ‘if it were true’?”

 

“That’s the thing,” Phil says. “At the moment it’s just a rumour. Student claims can’t be substantiated without evidence. If they could, we wouldn’t have jobs anymore.”

 

“What?!” Dan exclaims. “We’d be fired over this? But… that’s not fair! We didn’t even know-”

 

“I knew.”

 

There’s a pause as Dan tries to comprehend this.

 

“You knew,” he repeats.

 

Phil puts his head in his hands. He peers at Dan through his fingers. “Yes.”

 

Dan scrapes his chair backwards, feeling claustrophobic all of a sudden. He wants to run out of here, to find some fresh air and gulp down lungfuls of it, but at the same time he doesn’t want to be away from Phil.

 

“Dan, please understand,” Phil begs, leaning across the desk towards him. “I knew about the rule, but I didn’t think… at first I just thought it was harmless flirting, and that I wouldn’t let it go any further, but then you came to my house, and you kept being so sweet… and then you said all that stuff to me on the boat, and I just… I snapped. I couldn’t take it, I had to kiss you, to show you that it wasn’t just you, y’know?”

 

Dan stares at him, shell-shocked. How can something as simple as an unrequited crush have suddenly become so horribly complicated?

 

“You could’ve told me,” Dan says after a minute, his mind whirling. “At the very least, you could have told me the risk. Maybe then we’d have hidden it better.”

 

“It’s no use, Dan,” Phil says, his voice desperately sad. He’s probably been over this in his mind a hundred times already. “By the time we… y’know… it was already too late. The kids had already made up their minds about what they wanted to think. After that night on the boat, I woke up in your bed, and you were still sleeping next to me. You had this sweet little smile on your face. And I just lay next to you and tried and tried to think of how we could make it work. I thought maybe John might overlook it because we’re friends, or that you being a TA rather than a teacher might change things, but it didn’t.”

 

“So that’s it, then,” Dan surmises, nodding blankly. A numbness is spreading across his skin, ice cold. “There are no options for us. Apart from one.”

 

“I’ve been racking my brain ever since we got home,” Phil confesses. “I thought maybe I could….” he sighs, shaking his head. “John isn’t sure of anything yet. He’s just suspicious because of what the kids are saying. We can still keep our jobs, as long as we…”

 

His sentence trails off, but it’s all too clear what he means.

 

As long as we end it now.

 

Whatever it was.

 

“I’ll quit my job,” Dan declares, eyes shining with defiance. “I never wanted it anyway, I only applied here as a last resort-”

 

Phil is already shaking his head. “You can’t do that, Dan. You don’t have anywhere else to go. It’s the middle of the school year, no other schools will take you. And you need the money. Not to mention, the kids need you.”

 

Dan scoffs at this last objection, but slumps in his chair, knowing the rest to be true. If he quit this job, he’d be penniless and jobless. His rent is due soon, and he’s only just going to be able to scrape by as it is. Paris, whilst free on travel and accommodation, was not cheap.

 

“This isn’t fair,” Dan whispers, looking up at the ceiling to try and prevent the tears from coming. “I just got you.”

 

Phil presses his lips together. “If I could do something to change it, I would.” He draws his hands to his lap. “Anything. I’d do anything.”

 

“I almost wish you’d never kissed me at all,” Dan says.

 

Phil looks at him like he’s been punched, and Dan wants to hoover the words back up.

 

“Almost,” Dan reiterates, his voice weak.

 

*

 

For once, Dan is glad he doesn’t have any classes with Phil on Wednesdays. He spends the rest of his day in a daze, barely able to function, let alone assist classes particularly well. In his fourth period he has Jonah for IT, but he avoids him, sticking by a student struggling with Excel on the other side of the class.

 

As the class files out, Jonah approaches him.

 

“Are you pissed at me or somethin’, sir?”

 

“Don’t be silly, Jonah,” Dan says, not looking him in the eye.

 

 _I don’t think it’s fair to blame any of them,_ Phil had said. _They’re just kids._

 

“You usually say hello to me,” Jonah points out. “Did I do something wrong, sir?”

 

“I have to go, actually,” Dan says. It probably isn’t the best way to handle the situation, but he can’t think of anything to say that wouldn’t make him break down in tears. “See you next class.”

 

He can feel Jonah staring after him as he hurries out of the classroom.

 

*

 

There is one staff bathroom in the school, located just off the staffroom itself. It’s unisex, with three cubicles and three sinks. There is hardly ever anyone in it, and Dan doesn’t really know why. He thinks it might be because the caretakers only restock the soap and toilet paper infrequently. More likely though, it’s just because the staff tend to forget it’s there. The school has four other sets of student toilets, two on each floor. Most of them are probably a lot nearer to teachers’ classrooms, so they don’t need to trek down to the staffroom to relieve themselves.

 

Dan has a lot of time to think about all this, huddled in the farthest stall of the empty staffroom toilet for a full hour at lunch time. Nobody comes in for the entire time he’s there, and he’s incredibly thankful, because if they did, he’d have to explain why he’s been curled up in here all this time, not to mention his red, splotchy face.

 

He just needed to let it out, he’d told himself when he first snuck in here, one hour ago. Just a quick cry, and then back to work.

 

As it turns out, this was a foolish decision on his part. As soon as the cubicle door shut, Dan had burst into noisy sobs. His knees jellified beneath him, and he’d slipped to the ground.

 

The thoughts attacked him in their thousands. Every single naive little fantasy he’d conjured up over the past couple of days wormed its way into Dan’s head, only to be smashed to pieces by the reverberating gong-noise of Phil’s voice saying: _‘We can’t do this.’_

 

He and Phil, walking Buffy through the park on a summer afternoon, holding hands as she skipped around their feet.

 

He and Phil, snuggled on his sofa, watching old anime classics and kissing in the bits they’ve seen a thousand times.

 

He and Phil, hot and feverish, tangled in the sheets of Dan’s bed, trying to be quiet and failing miserably.

 

He and Phil, sending each other silly texts during their work days, sappy messages about how much they miss each other, even though they’re right down the hall.

 

All of these scenarios, the thousands that Dan has created in his head since he met Phil - they’re all gone. Shattered into a million shards by a stupid rumour, an even stupider rule, and then blown away in a gust of wind.

 

It’s crazy, Dan thinks, wiping his nose with his sleeve. He’s reacting as if they’d been together for years. In reality, Phil was never even his to start with.

 

What did they have, that’s lost, really? A stolen kiss on a riverboat, fumbling and cold. A gropey make out session on a hard single bed. Some flirting and blushing, acting like the schoolkids they were supposed to be looking after. Another kiss, pressed against a closed classroom door.

 

Fragments of something that turned into nothing. A fleeting romance, killed by the bureaucratic system within which they both found one another. It’s nonsensical, to be so upset by something that never even was.

 

Not bothered with sense in the slightest, his heart _aches_.

 

The worst part is that Dan is going to have to find a way to carry on. He will have to walk the same halls as Phil, every day. He’ll have to help Phil in class twice a week, and let the cheeky comments the students make slide off his back like it doesn’t affect him. He’ll see Phil making coffee in the staffroom, or buying secret cookies at lunch.  

 

Even thinking of Phil is enough to make Dan’s heart pang. It’s enough to bring more tears to his eyes. How can he be expected to cope, seeing him so often, for real, in the weeks, months ahead?

 

It occurs to Dan, as the bell rings, that one lunch hour is simply not enough time to deal with the emotions rampaging in his poor, stricken head.

 

*

 

“Dan, do you want in on the Dominos order?”

 

Teddy’s voice is muffled through the closed door of Dan’s bedroom, and even more so by the covers pulled over Dan’s head. He lifts them off briefly, pausing his episode of _Buffy the Vampire Slayer_.

 

“No, thanks.”

 

There’s silence then, so Dan turns back to his laptop, un-pausing it.

 

“Are you alright in there?” Teddy calls, forcing Dan to pause Buffy again. “You’re not sick are you?”

 

“I’m fine, Teddy.”

 

“I could bring you some soup, or-”

 

“I said I’m _fine_ ,” Dan shouts, hurling a pillow at the door.

 

“Alright, jeez.” Teddy says. “And I thought Ty was the drama queen in this house.”

 

He hears footsteps retreating, and he sighs. Buffy stares at him out of the screen, fearsome and beautiful. Her wooden stake is raised at shoulder height, ready to strike and kill.

 

“Must be nice to have something to stab whenever you need it,” Dan mutters to himself, and presses the space-bar.

 

He’s watched seven episodes already since he got in. That must be some kind of record. It’s been an okay distraction, as things go, but he can’t help being reminded of Phil, just because it’s his favourite.

 

He hasn’t eaten anything since this morning, but the thought of food is making him queasy, so he’s ignoring the fact he probably should. Even Dominos isn’t enough to tempt him.

 

Just as Buffy drives her stake into the heart of the third vampire this episode, Dan’s phone buzzes, lost somewhere in his duvet cocoon. He roots around for it, and brings it up to his face to see.

 

 **Phil**   
*video file*

 

Dan frowns at his screen, his heart skipping when he reads the name. He opens his messages.

 

The video Phil has sent him is a link to a Vine, uploaded onto YouTube. He clicks it, curious, and watches a six second clip of a corgi twerking to Snoop Dogg’s _‘Wiggle’_. He snorts with laughter, not expecting it, and clicks back onto his messages with Phil.

 

 **Dan**   
r u looking at dog vines   
when u should be lesson   
planning again

 

Just before he hits send, his thumb hovers above the screen, his mind catching him. Exchanging witty banter with Phil over text is not going to make this situation any easier. Perhaps the best thing to do is just ignore it and move on.

 

He hits send.

 

“I have no self control,” Dan says aloud, groaning.

 

 **Phil**   
...no

 

 **Phil**   
*video file*

 

This time it’s a baby sloth falling out of a tree. It lands in a pile of moss, unhurt, blinking in surprise. Dan giggles to himself beneath the darkness of his duvet.

 

 **Dan**   
Stop texting me and get back   
to work

 

 **Phil**   
but i miss you

 

The smile slips off Dan’s face.

 

 **Dan**   
u cant say that to me

 

 **Phil**   
sorry

 

Not knowing how to respond, Dan just locks his phone, placing it to one side as Willow and Xander flip through some ancient lore. The phone whispers to him, begging him to text again, but he stays strong, though it kills him a little.

 

 **Phil**   
what are you doing? o.o

 

 **Dan**   
srsly phil if u wanna break this off   
u cant send me cute texts

 

 **Dan**   
its too hard as it is

 

 **Dan**   
im already gonna have to see you   
every day and pretend like im not   
miserable

 

 **Phil**   
you’re miserable?

 

 **Dan**   
of course i am

 

 **Phil**   
me too.

 

 **Phil**   
*video file*

 

 **Phil**   
that might be the actual reason   
im looking at cute animal vines

 

 **Dan**   
is it working?

 

 **Phil**   
no :(

 

Dan clicks the link Phil sent him with a sigh. It’s a video of a Pomeranian in a party hat, scoffing a cake with the words ‘Happy Birthday Pom Pom’ written on the top. Its cute little face is covered in white frosting.

 

 **Dan**   
tht dog looks a bit like Buffy

 

 **Dan**   
mayb u should turn her into a vine

star

 

 **Phil**   
vine is dead dan

 

 **Phil**   
and buffy says she’s too good for   
vine anyway

 

 **Dan**   
hahaha. tell buffy i miss her

 

 **Phil**   
buffy misses you too.

 

There’s a stinging sensation in Dan’s left eye. He can feel a lump positioning itself in the middle of his throat. Dan rolls onto his back then, his right hand coming up to ghost over the bruise at the base of his neck.

 

It’s all he has left of Phil now. In a few weeks, it’ll have faded, and then what will he have to remind himself that this was real? A few half-faded memories? A couple of texts?

 

It’s not enough, he thinks, a tear leaking out of his duct. It slides down his temple, splashing onto the pillow behind his skull.

 

His phone buzzes again.

 

**Phil**

*picture message*

 

Dan opens it warily. As the image flashes up, he lets out a pained little noise.

 

The photo is of Phil, in his muppet pyjama trousers and a black _Pink Floyd_ t-shirt. He’s got Buffy under one arm, and she’s licking his face, making him laugh. His other hand is taking the photo.

 

He looks so soft, so homely. He looks just as Dan dreamed he would, in the fantasies where he and Phil lounge around his pretty, colourful house together, in casual clothes or pyjamas, Buffy clambering over their laps.

 

 **Dan**   
a low blow phil

 

 **Phil**   
Buffy insisted on sending u a selfie

 

 **Phil**   
i just helped her

 

 **Dan**   
buffy is such a tease

 

 **Dan**   
she looks very cute in that photo

 

 **Dan**   
i really really wish she was here

  
**Phil**   
she wishes that too.

 

*

 

On Thursday morning, Dan is sitting at his own kitchen table, sipping coffee and debating whether to call in sick to work. He’s got around fifteen minutes still, before he has to walk to catch his bus. It’s not very often that he isn’t rushing to get out of the door, but he woke up early and his anxious mind wouldn’t let him get back to sleep.

 

He takes another sip of coffee, staring at his phone.

 

Perhaps it wouldn’t be that suspicious, if he were ‘sick’ suddenly. John might be a little annoyed, as he didn’t work Monday either, because they were coming back from Paris.

 

At that moment, Tyler strolls into the room, immaculate and pristine in his navy suit. He looks at Dan in surprise, walking to the fruit bowl to grab an apple.

 

“Dan!” He says brightly. “You’re up early.”

 

Dan just nods slowly, still thinking.

 

Tyler takes a bite of the apple, leaning against the counter. “Everything okay?”

 

“Fine,” Dan says distractedly.

 

“It’s just, usually you’re tearing around the house at this time, looking for your other sock, or a tie, screaming at me that you’re gonna miss your-”

 

“Look, I’m up on time for once, okay?” Dan snaps. “No need to alert the media, I’m not always a total fucking mess, you know.”

 

Tyler stops chewing, eyes wide. He lets out a low whistle. “Fucking hell, no need to bite my head off.”

 

Dan shuts his eyes, breathing out slowly. He can feel the irritation sitting beneath his skin, but he shoves it down as best he can.

 

“Sorry,” he grits out, scraping his chair backwards. “We can’t all be morning people.”

 

He throws the remainder of his coffee down the sink, splashing it everywhere. Tyler jumps back from the spray, looking at his suit jacket in alarm.

 

“What’s up with you, Dan?” Tyler asks, sounding a little annoyed. “I thought you were on cloud fucking nine at the moment. Why are you being such a twat to us?”

 

Dan just grabs a cloth, wiping up the coffee he just splashed everywhere, his teeth clamped shut.

 

“Dan, if you don’t tell me what’s up your ass, I’ll-”

 

“What?” Dan asks, spinning round to glare at him. “You’ll annoy me to death? You do that just fine anyway.”

 

Tyler looks momentarily angry, but it passes quickly. He places the apple to one side, his expression melting into one of sympathy.

 

“It’s hot teacher, isn’t it,” he surmises, his voice filled with pity. “Did something happen?”

 

Dan wants to shout at him. He wants to yell that it’s none of his fucking business, and that he should butt his big head out of it. Instead, he opens his mouth to scream, and instead starts to cry.

 

He takes one step and falls straight into Tyler’s chest, sniffling. Tyler holds him readily, not hesitating for a moment, his arms coming round Dan’s back.

 

“Aw, Dan, love,” Tyler says softly. “You’re gonna get my suit all damp.”

 

“You can stand one day of looking not-perfect, Ty,” Dan says, sniffling.

 

“What happened?”

 

“It doesn’t matter,” Dan sighs, leaning away from him. Tyler’s arm stays on his back, rubbing lightly. “It’s over, that’s all.”

 

“I don’t understand,” Tyler says. “I thought you were so into one another?”

 

Dan shrugs, checking his watch. “Things got in the way.”

 

“Things?” Tyler asks, confused. “I don’t-”

 

“Look, Ty, thanks for being nice, but I have to go.”

 

“Sweetie, if you need to talk about this-”

 

“Yeah, um, later,” Dan says vaguely. “I’ve got to catch my bus.”

 

“Wait,” Tyler calls, just as Dan is about to bolt out of the door. He pauses, turning back, despite really wanting to flee this conversation. “Don’t you have a class with him today?”

 

Dan nods dejectedly. “Third period.”

 

“Shit,” Tyler says, pitying. “Good luck.”

 

“Thanks.”

 

*

 

The one time Dan wants his lessons to stretch on, they go double speed. Mercifully, he’s given a load of copying to do for Mr Richstein during break-time, so he doesn’t see Phil all morning. But all too soon, it’s 10:55am, and he has nothing to do except make his way down the corridors to Classroom Nine.

 

He drags his feet and dawdles, but it doesn’t make any difference. He ends up there in no time, hovering outside the partly open door. This time, he doesn’t even bother knocking.

 

Phil is, for some reason, rolling out an enormous sheet of white paper across the length of the floor. It reaches from wall to wall, covering the entire classroom. He’s pushed all the tables and chairs to the edges of the room, leaving a huge gap in the middle for it.

 

As Dan edges inside, Phil looks up, his glasses slipped a little way down his nose. “Oh,” he says. “Hi.”

 

“I’m scheduled to be here,” Dan blurts out. “Today. At eleven. To assist.”

 

Phil smiles at him. “I know.”

 

Dan swallows, nodding. “Cool.”

 

Phil stands up then, stepping on tiptoes to the edge of the paper. “Um, maybe we should take our shoes off.”

 

“Right,” Dan says, obeying immediately. It’s only as he’s untying his second pair of laces, one hand braced against the wall, that he thinks to ask why. “Uh, any reason I’m getting my feet out?”

 

Phil chuckles at him, pulling off his own shoes. “So we don’t make any marks on the paper.”

 

“Right,” Dan says again. “God forbid.”

 

Phil laughs again. “I’d tell you what we’re doing today, but-”

 

“But you want it to be a surprise.”

 

“Oh no,” Phil says, standing up in just his socks. “I’m becoming predictable.”

 

“Never,” Dan replies, honestly.

 

There’s an awkward pause, and Dan uses it to find somewhere to stow his shoes for the next hour.

 

“By the way,” Phil tells him conversationally. “The timetable’s changed a little. We’ve got the Year Nine’s today.”

 

Dan looks up in shock. “What?”

 

“Yeah,” Phil shrugs, like it’s no big deal. “Because they missed their History class on Monday due to the trip. So I switched with Mr Hawkins. He’s taking the Year Eight’s for Religious Studies, and I’m getting the Year Nine lot for this period. Just for this week, obviously.”

 

“But… but why?” Dan asks, a swell of panic rising in his chest as he considers the idea that they students from the Paris trip - the very students that blew up a very promising budding relationship with their cruel gossip - are going to be here in less than two minutes.

 

“Well, we just thought it was more important that they have the lesson today,” Phil shrugs, eyeing Dan confusedly. “They’ve got their mock GCSE’s coming up after all… and… Dan, are you okay?”

 

Dan is not okay. He’s struggling to remain calm.

 

“I just… didn’t realise.”

 

Phil watches him carefully, then steps onto the paper on the floor, as if he’s about to walk over.

 

“They won’t say anything, Dan,” Phil says quietly, dithering in the middle of the paper. “It will be okay.”

 

Dan meets his gaze, badly wanting to believe that. “How do you know?”

 

Before Phil can reply, three girls - Savannah, Caoibhe, and Gaeul all walk in, giggling about something. They stop short at the sight of the paper across the floor, looking at Phil for guidance.

 

“Shoes off, girls!” Phil cries, all seriousness wiped from his expression. “We’re having a socks-only lesson today.”

 

The girls laugh, slipping off their ankle boots and ballet pumps, then walking carefully across the paper to place them neatly at the side of the room with their bags. As the others file through the door, they follow suit, each bringing another bubble of excitement to the atmosphere.

 

Dan, perched up on one of the tables at the side of the class, just watches anxiously, waving and smiling as best he can at the familiar faces.

 

“Hi, sir!” They call brightly, sensing nothing amiss.

 

“Hey, Mr Howell, how’re you?”

 

“ _Bonjour_ , Mr Howell!”

 

Finally, Jonah bowls through, grinning and calling his greeting to Mr Lester, like nothing is wrong, like he hasn’t destroyed everything with his carelessness.

 

Dan hides a scowl, and tries to tell himself to remain professional.

 

Once everyone is inside, their shoes removed, they sit cross-legged on the large blank canvas beneath them, and Phil introduces the class. They’re going to be creating a mural, based around the Paris trip. Everyone will draw their favourite memory, and relate it to a piece of Parisian history from the time period they’ve been focusing on. They can draw anything, as long as it’s relevant and appropriate.

 

Penises, Phil reminds the class, are not permitted.

 

The class get to work at once, grabbing the coloured pencils, chalks, and pens Phil hands out in big tubs. They talk amongst themselves, busy creating their masterpieces, so Dan hops down to wander through them all, peering at their drawings.

 

“Sir, you’ll smudge my design!” Katie complains, batting at Dan’s socked foot as he walks by her.

 

“Oops, sorry,” he says, stepping backwards.

 

“Sir, you’re walking on my Eiffel Tower!” Matthew cries.

 

Dan apologises profusely, and makes his way quickly to the edge of the class, where Phil’s desk is, trying to avoid any more disasters. Phil giggles at him, perched on the edge of his desk like a deity overlooking his Kingdom.

 

“Perhaps you should design something for the mural too, Mr Howell,” Phil suggests, holding out an array of pencils to him.

 

Dan gives him a withering look. “I knew this was all a ploy to get me to draw again.”

 

Phil chuckles. “Told you I’m becoming predictable.”

 

Dan sighs, rolling his eyes, and takes a few of the pencils from his hand, trying not to focus on the way his fingers drag over Phil’s.

 

“What do I draw, then?”

 

“What’s your favourite memory from the trip?” Phil asks.

 

Seconds after the question leaves his mouth, he seems to realise how loaded it is, and blushes, looking away.

 

Dan doesn’t look at him either, trying to focus on coming up with literally anything remotely appropriate to draw.

 

“As if you need to ask him that, sir,” Jonah calls to Phil, smirking.

 

Dan fixes him with a glare. “That’s enough, Jonah.”

 

“Aw, lay off, sir,” Jonah replies, glaring right back at him. “I’m only sayin’ what everyone already knows. Your favourite memory of Paris isn’t gonna be the fuckin’ Champs-Elysee is it?”

 

“I mean it, Jonah,” Dan says, standing up straighter. “Pipe down.”

 

“How exactly are you gonna draw you and Lester suckin’ face, anyway?” Jonah asks, chin jutting out defiantly. “Chalk and charcoal?”

 

“I said that’s enough!” Dan shouts.

 

“Dan,” Phil says softly, his voice a warning. Dan ignores him.

 

“For God’s sake, Jonah, it’s not appropriate for you to make those kind of comments!”

 

A slow smirk spreads over Jonah’s face. “Struck a nerve did I, sir?”

 

“Jonah, I am warning you-”

 

“Oh go blub to your _boyfriend_ about it,” Jonah says, rolling his eyes.

 

The rest of the class have stopped drawing now. They’ve stopped their chattering too, nineteen pairs of eyes fixed on Dan and Jonah, their mouths open in shock.

 

Dan grits his teeth. He can already feel the anger rushing through his bloodstream, churned up by Jonah’s insolent behaviour. He’s not going to be able to choke it down this time.

 

“Get out,” he snarls. Jonah stares in surprise.

 

“What?”

 

“I said get out of this classroom, Jonah Frank.”

 

“Dan,” Phil hisses at him, one hand on Dan’s arm. Dan pulls free of him, furious. “Dan, you can’t just-”

 

Dan stalks over to the door then, stamping over several students’ drawings as he goes, though nobody says a word. He pulls open the door, fixes Jonah with a hard stare, and gestures to the hall outside.

 

“I’m not going to ask again.”

 

“Sir, can he do this?” Jonah asks, turning his attention to Phil.

 

Phil swallows, turning to Jonah. “Mr Howell is just as much of a superior to you as I am, Jonah. If he feels you are misbehaving, he can discipline you however he sees fit.”

 

“So, you agree wiv’im?” Jonah asks, cross now. He gets to his feet, throwing a piece of chalk down in anger.

 

“Yes,” Phil says, though he doesn’t seem happy about it. “Do as he says, Jonah.”

 

“This is bullshit, an’ all,” Jonah growls, but stalks through the open door into the hallway, pulling it closed behind him.

 

“Wait out there, Jonah!” Dan calls.

 

“Alright everyone,” Phil says weakly. “Back to work.”

 

Reluctantly, the kids return to their drawings, whispering quietly. Dan doesn’t need to wonder what they’re all saying. He passes a hand over his face, wondering what the fuck he’s doing.

 

As Dan looks up, he notices Phil starting to pick his way through the kids towards him, and swallows, sensing the incoming storm. Phil is calm, aiming strained smiles and encouraging comments at the students, but as soon as he gets close enough, he takes Dan by the arm. Dan just lets it happen, allowing himself to be led without a struggle to the very edge of the classroom, as far from the students’ earshot as possible.

 

He tries to brace himself for a telling off, and has a quiet word with his own body that no matter how stern and teacher-y Phil gets with him, he is by no means allowed to get aroused by it.

 

“Look, Phil, he was being disrespectful,” Dan says immediately, wanting to try to get his word in first. “He’s been saying that shit for way too long, it’s not appropriate-”

 

“Dan, do not even try to tell me that this wasn’t a personal vendetta against one individual.”

 

Dan shuts up, sighing. “He had it coming.”

 

Phil groans in exasperation. “Dan, you have to see how bad this is. You can’t just send students out of my class without telling me.”

 

“You said you agreed!”

 

“What else was I supposed to do?” Phil asks, his voice low so the others won’t hear. “Say you were wrong? Undermine you in front of the whole class?”

 

“But I’m not wrong!” Dan fires back, frustrated. “You know his behaviour is inappropriate, I’m only doing what you should have done weeks ago-”

 

“Do _not_ tell me how to do my job, Dan.”

 

Dan blinks at him, taken aback by the harshness of his tone. Phil has never spoken to him so sternly before. His serious expression is gone in a flash, but it doesn’t matter. It will stick in Dan’s mind forever, probably.

 

“Fine, whatever, I’ll go and get him back in.”

 

Phil sighs, catching Dan’s wrist as he starts to head for the door. He drops it quickly, remembering where they are. Dan feels the fingers slip over his skin, and winces.

 

“No, look,” Phil starts. “It’s fine. It’s done now. I’ll go and speak to him, tell him not to say that stuff anymore.” Phil looks heavenward. “Not that I have any idea how to begin that conversation…”

 

“I’ll do it,” Dan says softly. “This is my mess. I’ll clear it up.”

 

Phil pauses, considering. He chews his lip. “Okay. But… can you do me a favour?”

 

“Anything,” Dan says, too quickly. He curses himself for saying it, eyes slipping shut.

 

“Just… don’t be too harsh on him,” Phil says, his voice a little croaky again. “He’s not a bad kid. He just teases people. But it’s a sign of affection.”

 

Dan looks at Phil, a realisation dawning over him. “I screwed up the rapport you’ve built with the most troubled kid in school, didn’t I?”

 

Phil shrugs, tiredly. “I hope not.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 11 will (on this rare occasion) be posted in about half an hour! I split this update in half due to length. Happy Wednesday! 
> 
> xxx


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I had so many things I wanted to tell you,” Phil says, despairingly. “So many things you deserve to hear.”
> 
> “Please don’t say them,” Dan begs him, eyes slipping shut. “It’ll only make it worse.”
> 
> “I think if I hold them in any longer they’ll burst out of me anyway.”
> 
> Dan deliberates this, chewing his fingernail. “So tell me in French.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Read the translation of the French here!
> 
> http://danfanciesphil.tumblr.com/post/169561038020/translation-of-french-chapter-11

 

“Oh, brilliant,” Jonah says when he sees Dan approaching, his eyes rolling backwards. “Course Mr Lester sends you to tell me off.”

 

Dan slides down the wall against which Jonah’s back rests, slumping into a sitting position beside him. “Actually, I came to apologise to you.”

 

Jonah lifts an eyebrow. “You what?”

 

Dan sighs heavily, gathering his knees to his chest. “I’ve been going through a bit of a tough time, and I took it out on you. I’m sorry.”

 

Jonah scrutinises him, then snorts. “You gotta learn to channel that temper, sir.”

 

“I know,” Dan says. “I’m working on it.”

 

“So I’m not in trouble then?”

 

“Oh no, you are.”

 

“But you said-”

 

“You still can’t say that stuff, Jonah,” Dan says, shaking his head. “About me and Ph- me and Mr Lester.”

 

“Is that what’s got you in a bad mood?” Jonah asks. “Me sayin’ you and him are goin’ at it?”

 

Dan leans backwards, his head thunking against the wall. “Jonah, you’re a smart kid. Can’t you guess why it might have gotten to me?”

 

Jonah thinks for a moment, looking confused. Then, his eyes widen. “Shit, sir! No way! ‘Ave I actually been spot on this whole time? I fuckin’ knew it-”

 

“No,” Dan interrupts, holding one hand in the air. “No, no. We are not… whatever you think we are.”

 

Jonah’s shoulders slump. “Oh. So you just _wanna_ be, then?”

 

Dan gives him a sideways glance. “I can’t talk to you about my personal problems, Jonah.”

 

“That’s a yes.”

 

Dan says nothing, which he hopes is enough.

 

“But why take it out on me, sir?” Jonah asks, sounding a little sad. “I thought me and you were gettin’ on.”

 

“I shouldn’t have done that,” Dan says, shaking his head at himself. “It’s not your fault, really.”

 

“What isn’t?”

 

Dan looks at Jonah, wondering if he should say the next part. “You’re not exactly one for discretion, is all.”

 

Jonah’s brow creases for a moment, and then something seems to dawn on him.

 

“Oh,” he breathes. “Crap… is this ‘cause I was chattin’ shit about the two o’you messin’ about in Paris?” Dan shifts awkwardly, not wanting to confirm or deny. He shouldn’t be telling Jonah anything at all, he knows. But he wants to make amends. “Shit, sir,” Jonah says, guiltily. “No wonder you’re pissed at me.”

 

“I’m not angry with you,” Dan lies.

 

He wishes he were more like Phil right now, able to somehow see the kids as just kids, and file their spiteful behaviour as nothing more than youthful naivety.

 

“Did I get you in trouble, sir? Is it against the rules?”

 

Jonah’s voice has gotten smaller, as though he’s truly concerned. It melts Dan’s hardened heart a little, and he slumps his shoulders.

 

“There are rules against… fraternisation between staff members, yes.”

 

That’s an ambiguous enough statement, Dan tells himself internally. He could just be saying that aloud to himself, for all anybody knows.

 

“Shit, sir,” Jonah says. “I didn’t think. I’m sorry.”

 

Dan turns to him in surprise. “I’m the one apologising, remember?”

 

“But I ruined it, didn’t I?” Jonah asks, miserable. “You and Lester, you can’t be together now.”

 

“We were _never together_ , Jonah,” Dan tells him, stressing that as much as possible. “Got that?”

 

Jonah’s mouth lifts in a tiny smile, and he winks briefly. “Don’t worry, I won’t blab.”

 

“Look, come back inside when you want,” Dan tells him, standing up. His knees crack as he goes, reminding him of how he fell asleep last night, curled in an awkward position around his laptop, clutching his phone. “I won’t write this on your report.”

 

“Sir?”

 

Dan turns to him, one hand on the classroom door. “Mhm?”

 

“Thanks for talkin’ to me about this,” Jonah says, shrugging. “No one bothers to do that, normally.”

 

Dan smiles at him, a little sadly, and heads back inside.

 

*

 

Dan stays behind after the lesson ends to ‘help Phil clear up’. He’s going to be late to his next class, but he justifies it by reasoning that since he’s spent so much time helping other teachers tidy their stuff away after class, that Phil deserves his help all the same.

 

They’ve rolled up the mural and leant it against a wall, out of the way. They’ve moved all the tables and chairs back into position, and gathered up the pencils.

 

There’s nothing left to be done now, and Dan is already aching at the thought of his imminent departure. He holds a tub of pencils to his chest, trying not to let the sadness show.

 

“Where do these go?”

 

Phil looks over at him. “Oh, in my desk drawer. Thanks.”

 

“No problem,” Dan says quietly.

 

Phil is still a little off with him, understandably. Dan behaved badly in this class. His hot-headedness got the better of him, and he acted out. It was unprofessional, and it could have gotten Phil in trouble, or worse, could have derailed his teaching plans.

 

He opens Phil’s drawer, hating himself just a little bit. When he sees what’s inside, he almost drops the pencils all over the floor. He catches the tub just as it’s slipping out of his hold, thankfully. He places it on the side, and pulls out the sheet of paper staring out at him.

 

“You kept this?”

 

Phil turns towards him, pausing as he writes the date in the corner of the whiteboard. When he sees what Dan holds in his fingers, his eyes widen. “Shit.”

 

“I can’t believe you kept it,” Dan says, amazed. His fingers roam over the cheap, lined paper they’d blagged from the hostel receptionist. Dan’s messy pencil marks are a little smudged, but it’s in great condition, considering it’s travelled back from Paris. “My crappy sketch of you. Why would you....”

 

“Because it’s beautiful,” Phil answers, having wandered closer when Dan wasn’t looking. Dan’s breath catches, and he turns to Phil in surprise. “I kept it because you drew it, of me. And it’s beautiful.”

 

There are tears in Dan’s eyes. “Phil, I don’t think I can do this.”

 

Phil presses his lips together, taking the paper from Dan with care. “We have to.”

 

“Then throw it away,” Dan says, sniffing. He’s trying to hold the tears back; it won’t make anything easier, if Phil sees him cry. “I can’t do this knowing you have that in your desk, like a memento, reminding you of Paris, and-”

 

“Okay,” Phil whispers, nodding in agreement. “I’ll throw it away.”

 

“Promise?”

 

Phil hesitates.

 

Dan waits, but Phil doesn’t confirm.

 

A minute passes, and the tears won’t listen a second longer, so Dan bolts from the room before they fall.

 

*

 

Dan cries in the staff toilets at lunch-time, and then finds himself there again, the next day, like it’s becoming a habit. At least it’s Friday, he tells himself as he sobs quietly in solitude for the third day in a row.

 

It’s on this third day, Friday lunch time, that the door of the staff bathroom opens, and someone walks inside for the first time. Dan claps a hand over his mouth and nose, stifling the pitiful noises he’s been making. He’ll just wait for whoever it is to pee and leave again, he tells himself. He’ll be quiet, won’t move, and nobody sane will dare to invade his privacy, despite the cubicle door having been locked for at least half an hour so far.

 

“Dan?” A familiar voice calls out, and this plan is immediately flushed down the nearby drain. “Dan, it’s me, are you in here?”

 

“Please leave me alone, Phil,” Dan says. “I know you mean well, but I’m kind of a mess right now, so…”

 

There’s a silence, and Dan wonders if Phil really did just walk straight out again. Then he hears the sound of water gushing, like a tap being turned on.

 

“Are you okay?”

 

Dan snorts, wiping the dampness off his face with the wad of toilet paper in his hand. “No.”

 

“Yeah, that was… a stupid question. Sorry.”

 

“I’m not coming out,” Dan warns him. “You’ve seen me just woken up, just off a ten hour bus journey, and soaked from a storm, but I refuse to let you see me cry.”

 

“You’re crying?” Phil asks. His voice has a thin crack running through the middle, like it’s about to splinter into pieces.

 

“I… thought it’d be obvious,” Dan says. “What did you think I was doing in here?”

 

“Hiding from me,” Phil answers, his voice still crackly. “I didn’t know you were crying.”

 

Dan sighs. He’s sat on the floor of the stall, which is probably not very hygienic. He can see under the gap below the door; Phil is sat, cross legged, on the other side. Dan can see his shoes. The laces have little bumblebees on them. In another instance, it might make him smile.

 

The noise of the faucet flowing penetrates the silence. “Did you turn that on so no one will hear us?”

 

“Yeah,” Phil says. “I thought… maybe we could talk. About this.”

 

“That’s probably a bad idea.”

 

“Yeah, well,” Phil says. “I’m kind of sick of being good.”

 

Dan laughs humorlessly. “Tell me about it.”

 

“I had so many things I wanted to tell you,” Phil says, despairingly. “So many things you deserve to hear.”

 

“Please don’t say them,” Dan begs him, eyes slipping shut. “It’ll only make it worse.”

 

“I think if I hold them in any longer they’ll burst out of me anyway.”

 

Dan deliberates this, chewing his fingernail. “So tell me in French.”

 

“But you won’t understand,” Phil says.

 

Dan shrugs, then remembers Phil can’t see him. “I’ll pretend like I do.”

 

“Okay,” Phil says. Dan braces himself, taking a deep breath in. He keeps his eyes closed, slumped against one wall of the cubicle, listening. “ _Dès l'instant où tu as franchis ma porte, j'ai su que tu allais tout changer. Je n'en revenais pas que quelqu'un de si beau vienne de son plein gré dans ma vie. J'ai essayé de rester professionnel, de me comporter avec toi comme avec tout le monde. Mais tu étais tellement différent des autres.Tu était le plus adorable. Le plus gentil. Un joyau, enterree sous des couches de doute. Je voulais te polir, te voir briller entre mes mains. Mais je voulais te garder caché, dans ma poche. Que tu ne brilles que pour moi_.”

 

Phil lets out a breathy kind of laugh, which is confusing. There’s a pause, and then he continues, his voice husky now, a crackle in his throat.

 

“ _Quand je t'ai embrassé cette nuit là sur le bateau, j'ai eu un aperçu des étoiles_.” He says. “ _Tu n'avais pas la moindre idée que je t'embrasserai n'est-ce pas? Tu t'interdisais d'y croire, jusqu'à ce que cela arrive_.”

 

There’s a beat, like he’s waiting for a response. Dan wonders if he’s supposed to be following along. All he’s managed to take from Phil’s speech so far is the despondent lilt of his quiet voice, and the delicate fluidity of his words, incomprehensible, but rippling with beauty.

 

“ _C'est complètement fou Dan_ ,” Phil says, before Dan can think of anything to say. “ _Comment pouvais tu penser que je serais capable de te résister? Tu as raison tu sais, c'est injuste. C'est affreusement injuste de devoir renoncer à toi après t'avoir eu pour moi pour une seconde. J'aurais été si bien pour toi Dan. J'aurais pu te montrer à quel point tu es extraordinaire. Je te l'aurais montré chaque jour qui passe. Tu mérites ce qu'il y a de mieux. Si seulement, bon Dieu si seulement se pouvait être moi. Mais ce n'est pas possible. Du coup, à partir de maintenant, je vais arrêter. J'arrêterais de flirter avec toi, parce que tu as raison, ça rend tout ça tellement plus difficile. Je ne t'enverrai plus de messages, ne boirais plus ton café. Je ne t'inviterai plus dans le seul but de pouvoir t'admirer. Je te rendrais ton blouson, je sais que tu ne te rappelles même plus que c'est moi qui l'ai, mais je te le rendrai quand même. Tu peux garder mon écharpe. Je serai ton ami, et tu seras le mien. On pourra être meilleurs amis, peut être, un jour_.”

 

Dan’s not sure at which point he started crying again, but the next thing he knows, the tissue in his hand is sodden, and he’s pulling more from the roll, desperate to stifle the moisture leaking from his eyes. He tries to be quiet, but he can’t help the sniffing.

 

“Oh, God, Dan,” Phil says, stricken. His hand reaches under the door. Dan looks at it, forlornly, trying to resist the urge to grab hold. “I didn’t… I thought you wouldn’t understand, I-”

 

“I didn’t,” Dan assures him, choked. “But I could feel what you meant.”

 

There’s a silence.

 

“Let me drive you home today,” Phil says after a while.

 

“John’d love that.”

 

“He doesn’t have to know.”

 

“What if the kids see?”

 

“We can wait till most of them are gone,” Phil suggests, chipping away at Dan’s resolve.

 

“It’s a bad idea, Phil.”

 

“I don’t care,” Phil presses. His hand is still there, reaching under the gap. “I don’t want you to get the bus on your own. Not when you’re this upset.”

 

“I’ve gotten the bus home for the past two days just fine,” Dan says, a little bitterly.

 

“Please let me, Dan.”

 

Dan sighs, reaching out to touch the tip of his finger to Phil’s.

 

“Okay,” Dan says, feeling his willpower drain away.

 

Surely one car journey couldn’t make things any worse.  

 

*

 

“Buffy won’t mind you being late today, then?” Dan asks, subdued, as he stares out at his rundown little house, right outside Phil’s car window.

 

“I texted Martyn just after lunch,” Phil replies. “He said he’d go round and let her out.”

 

Dan turns to him. “She’ll be disappointed when the door opens and it’s not you.”

 

Phil lifts one shoulder in a shrug. “She’ll get over it. I have more important things to attend to right now.”

 

“Lucky me.” Dan deadpans.

 

“I shouldn’t have said all that stuff earlier,” Phil says, frowning. “I know you couldn’t understand, but it was stupid of me anyway.”

 

“So why did you?”

 

“I couldn’t help it,” Phil shrugs, sadly. “I had to say it. Because I know I won’t get to, now.”

 

Dan rubs his eyes with his hand, suddenly exhausted. “This is so unfair.”

 

“Yeah,” Phil says, nodding. “It is.”

 

They exchange a look, loaded with meaning, drawn out longer than is probably wise. Just before Dan thinks he’s about to snap, to lean in and seize Phil in a kiss again, he reaches for the door handle.

 

“Well, thank you,” Dan says awkwardly. “For the lift.”

 

“I still have your jacket,” Phil blurts, making Dan pause.

 

“What?”

 

“Your jacket. The one you were wearing when you came round to my house that time.”

 

“Oh,” Dan says, dumbly. He’d completely forgotten about that. “Um, that’s okay. Just bring it in to school sometime, I guess.”

 

Phil nods, eyes desperate, as if he’s searching for something else to say, another reason to prolong this hellish goodbye.

 

It occurs to Dan then, that Phil is not the only one hoarding items of the other person’s clothing.

 

“Actually, I have your hoodie, don’t I?” Dan says, glancing towards his front door. “And this, obviously.” He gestures to the scarf around his neck, blushing. Phil’s eyes drop to it, as if he’d forgotten it was ever his to begin with. “But, uh, I think I’ll keep this for now.”

 

Phil looks up at him in surprise. “The scarf? Why?”

 

Dan holds his gaze, trying to work out whether he’s kidding. He appears genuinely flummoxed, so Dan sighs heavily, and unwraps it from his neck, then opens his shirt collar.

 

Phil sucks in a gasp as he sees the mark, realisation dawning on him.

 

“Oh,” he says, blushing as well. Unexpectedly, Dan spots the corner of his mouth inching up in a smile. “Yeah, right.”

 

“Are you laughing, you dick?”

 

Phil presses his lips together, eyes gleaming with amusement. “Nope.”

 

Dan snorts, hitting Phil in the arm. “I hate you. I have to walk around every day with this huge bruise on my neck, not even allowed to kiss you anymore to make up for it. And you’re _laughing_.”

 

The smile gets a little sadder on Phil’s face. It makes Dan want to scoop his words back up, so that his last image of Phil before he leaves is a happy one. Dan sighs, knowing it’s time to get out of the car.

 

“Okay, I’m going now,” Dan tells him firmly, pulling the door handle. A wash of cool air rushes in through the crack of the door, sobering him. “Wait here a sec, I’ll just grab your hoodie from inside.”

 

Dan hops out of the car before Phil can respond, and jogs to his door, intending to find the hoodie, throw it at Phil and slam the door before he can do or say anything even more sappy and stupid.

 

“Anyone seen that green hoodie Phil gave me?” Dan calls to the general household as he walks through it. It’s a very small probability that his self-involved housemates will have any clue as to where the garment is, but there’s no harm in trying. “The University of York one.”

 

“No, darling!” Teddy shouts from somewhere, and Dan sighs. “Why?”

 

“Phil’s outside and I wanna give it back to him,” Dan answers, heading into his room. He crosses straight to the pile of clothes in the corner of his floor and begins rifling through.

 

“Phil’s outside?” Teddy calls, obviously curious.

 

Dan rolls his eyes, not responding. Let Teddy peer through their curtains at poor Phil, idling in his car as he waits for Dan’s incompetent ass to return, so he can escape.

 

It takes Dan about ten minutes to find the damn hoodie, which, as it turns out, was crumpled in the covers of his bed. If Phil asks, Dan decides he won’t mention that he wore it several nights in a row, breathing in the scent through the sleeves. He’ll lie that he wore it that one time, the day Phil lended it to him, and never again.

 

He sniffs it suspiciously as he walks back out of his room with it, wondering if he should tell Phil he’ll wash it before giving it back. But he kind of doesn’t want the reminder just hanging about in his house-

 

Dan stops abruptly, stock still in the entrance to his living room. Phil is on his sofa, a mug of tea in his hands.

 

He wears a look of guilt as he meets Dan’s eye. “He insisted I come in for a cup of tea.”

 

Dan’s eyes flutter closed. “Which one.”

 

“Uhm, your roommate, I think- I mean, I hope.”

 

“Yeah, I have two. Was he immaculately dressed in a suit, or did he have a kind of nerdy thing going on?” Dan asks, already worried. “Glasses and a quiff, et cetera.”

 

“Uh, second one, I think.”

 

“Teddy!” Dan shouts, furious. “Get in here.”

 

Perched on the edge of the sofa like he’s waiting for the moment he can spring off it again, Phil watches nervously as Teddy strolls back into the room, carrying a tray laden with two more cups of tea, a bowl of sugar and a pack of Hobnobs.

 

“For Christ’s sake, Dan,” Teddy says in a calm, bubbly voice not befitting this situation at all. “Why are you always screaming? Inside voices, eh?”

 

Dan just stares in bewilderment, accepting the cup of tea Teddy hands him before he can think about what he’s doing. Teddy takes a seat beside Phil, slurping his own tea.

 

“Sorry about him,” Teddy says to Phil, smiling. “Gosh, you are handsome, aren’t you? Dan wasn’t exaggerating there.”

 

“Oh, uh…” Phil flushes, obviously finding this whole thing very awkward. How is this happening? “Thank you.”

 

“Teddy, you can’t just invite my friends in without-”

 

“Oh, do be quiet, Dan,” Teddy sighs. “At least I’m not rude enough to leave the poor man out in his car.”

 

Phil giggles a little, trying to hide it in his cup. Dan sees, and aims a narrow-eyed glance his way.

 

“He has to get home,” Dan protests, hoping Phil will jump in and back him up at some point. “He has a dog. He was kind enough to drop me back, but-”

 

“Oh yes, we were just speaking about Phil’s adorable little crossbreed!” Teddy exclaims, cheerily. “He showed me a picture of her. Such a sweet little thing. And no need to worry, Dan, Phil has asked his brother to check in on her.”

 

Phil looks at Dan with a shrug, nodding very slightly. “Martyn said she’s fine. He let her out, and she’s had some food.”

 

“So, it’s all fine then, isn’t it?” Teddy says brightly. “Hobnob, Phil?”

 

Dan’s about to slump into the threadbare armchair nearby, surrendering to the idea of forcibly drinking tea with the man he’s spent the last three days weeping over, but at that moment the front door is thrown open.

 

“Okay, whose car is lurking _tantalisingly_ in our driveway, boys?” The unmistakable voice of Tyler calls out from afar. Dan’s eyes slip closed again, and he sends a silent prayer to the Heavens that this all be over soon. “Do we have a _gentleman caller_?”

 

Teddy chuckles, setting down his tea. “Do excuse me a moment, Phil, it would appear my hubby has returned home for the day.”

 

“No problem,” Phil says politely, nibbling on a Hobnob.

 

Dan just about manages to wait until Teddy has left the room, and then he pounces, leaping across from the armchair to the couch, spilling tea on his own jeans.

 

“Phil, you have to go,” Dan says, trying to instil the urgency into his voice.

 

“Oh,” Phil says, a little dejectedly. “Sure, I-I’m sorry, I just-”

 

Dan’s heart squeezes, latching onto the sight of Phil’s sad, puppy-dog eyes as he wipes biscuit crumbs from his lips.

 

“No, it’s not that- I mean, obviously I want you to stay,” Dan says hurriedly, glancing at the door of the living room in fear. “I really do. But like you said, we have to at least _try_ and keep apart from one another for a while, otherwise-”

 

“Yeah, I know,” Phil says, sighing. “I’m sorry, I keep seeming to make everything worse. I will go, I promise, I just feel like I should finish the tea your flatmate made me, at least.”

 

Dan starts to shake his head, but Phil keeps talking.

 

“He’s a sweet guy, but he’s kind of… forceful,” Phil muses, slurping more from his mug. “He kind of dragged me out of the car actually, even when I said I probably shouldn’t come in-”

 

“No, Phil, you don’t understand,” Dan says, practically tearing his hair out at this point. How can he possibly boot Phil out of the door before he’s subjected to a worse horror? “Teddy is the lesser of two evils.”

 

Phil cocks his head to one side. “What do you mean?”

 

“Oh... _hello sailor_ ,” Tyler says from the doorway.

 

Dan’s hand smacks into his forehead. Too late.

 

Phil turns to face Tyler, eyes round and surprised. “Um, hi. I’m-”

 

“Sexy French History Teacher?” Tyler supplies, beaming. He drops to his knees beside the couch, resting an elbow on Phil’s knee as he stares up at him. “Don’t worry, I’ve heard.”

 

Tyler looks towards Dan, ignoring his glare. He grins.

 

“You didn’t tell me he wore glasses,” Tyler says, practically purring. “Geek chic is so on trend right now.”

 

“Sorry, I don’t think I caught your name…” Phil says, a mini smirk on his lips.

 

“How polite,” Tyler says appreciatively. He sticks out his hand for Phil to take. “I’m Tyler, darling.”

 

Phil shakes his hand with a modicum of wariness, Dan can’t help but notice.

 

“Tyler, get up, for fuck’s sake,” Dan hisses, rolling his eyes. “He’s not the bloody Pope.”

 

“Might as well be, the way you worship him day and night,” Tyler quips, winking as he rises to his feet. He dusts some non-existent dirt from his knees as Dan tries not to drown in his own mortification. “Not to mention that shrine you made for him in your room.”

 

Dan groans in embarrassment, trying to conjure up one of the many fantasies he uses during situations like this with his flatmates. Most of these fantasies involve murdering them both, slowly and painfully.  

 

“Is that what you were using my hoodie for, Dan?” Phil asks, making Tyler laugh.

 

Dan stares at him in betrayal, then swats him in the arm. “Whose side are you on, here?”

 

“Ooh, I like him,” Tyler grins, eyes shining. “Brains, looks, and a quick wit. Delicious.” Dan just takes a gulp of tea, badly wishing it were vodka. Luckily, his lack of response seems to move the conversation onwards. “So, what brings you to our lovely abode today then, hot stuff?”

 

Tyler aims a pointed look towards Phil, and flops down into the armchair, limbs flailed out like a Roman Emperor reclining in his throne.

 

“It’s Phil, actually.”

 

“He’s just dropping me off after work,” Dan says quickly, badly wanting to steer this wayward conversation into safer territory.

 

“How sweet,” Tyler says.

 

He aims a pointed _‘I’m going to rip answers out of your ass later on when we’re alone’_ look at Dan, who just sighs. He doesn’t even have an explanation, at this point.

 

Just then, Teddy strolls back in, another cup of tea in his hand. He hands it to Tyler, then falls promptly onto his lap.

 

“Ugh, you weigh a tonne,” Tyler groans; Teddy just laughs, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “And you’re creasing my suit. This is Paco Rabanne, you know.”

 

“Like fuck it is,” Teddy replies, laughing.

 

Phil chuckles at them, sipping more tea. Surprised, Dan catches his eye. Is it possible that Phil isn’t minding this horrifying experience, despite Teddy and Tyler’s horrendous behaviour?

 

“So, are we all going out for a drink, then?” Tyler asks after Teddy has settled himself. “Stroll down to the pub?”

 

“Oh, um, I’m afraid I can’t,” Phil says immediately. He glances sideways at Dan, eyes asking for help. “I’ve got to get back for my dog, and… do some marking. Teacher life, y’know.”

 

“Oh, boo,” Tyler says, pouting. “Well then I guess it’ll just have to be another time.”

 

Dan lets out a sigh of relief as discreetly as possible.

 

“Yeah,” Phil says absently, draining the last of his tea. Despite Dan having been the one to push Phil towards leaving, as he sees the remainder of the drink in Phil’s cup disappear, he can’t help the disappointment swelling up as he realises Phil is about to walk out of the door. “Some other time.”

 

He places his cup down on the table, smiling politely.

 

“Tomorrow!” Teddy cries out. A cheese grater, Dan thinks. That would be such a good murder weapon.

 

Phil looks up at the two of them, startled. “Uh, tomorrow?”

 

“Yeah, fantastic idea, love,” Tyler joins in, grinning happily. Dan tries to send them both death glares, but they seem to be avoiding his eye. “Tomorrow night! You’re not going to be marking all weekend, surely, Phil. Drive over, and the four of us can go down to the pub together.”

 

Phil looks at Dan, clearly at a loss for what to say.

 

“Oh, you’ll love our local pub, Phil,” Teddy adds, dreamily. “It’s so quaint. A real Olde English vibe! Just adorable.”

 

“Well, it’s lovely of you to offer,” Phil tries, but Dan can already tell his protest is doomed. “But I’m not sure-”

 

“Don’t you dare try and weasel out of it,” Tyler says, jabbing a finger at him. “Dan’s had you to himself for long enough, I want to unravel the mystery of his new favourite teacher.”

 

“Oh, God,” Dan says, a little louder than he means to, probably, as the others all turn to look at him. Phil holds his gaze, and Dan gives him a look of despair, shrugging in defeat.

 

“Well, maybe I could come for… one drink,” Phil suggests, sounding unsure, still.

 

“Hooray!” The terrible twosome shout in unison, clinking their mugs together.

 

“I’d better head off now, though,” Phil says, standing up from the sofa so suddenly that not even Tyler or Teddy are able to speak out in protest. “Thank you so much for the tea and biscuits, it was very kind of you.”

 

“Oh, don’t be silly, love,” Tyler says brightly. “Those chiseled cheekbones are welcome anytime.”

 

“Bye, Phil!” Teddy calls as Tyler wraps him in a tight embrace. “Lovely to meet you at last. Dan’s legends of your beauty are all true!”

 

“Let me walk you out!” Dan cries, ushering Phil towards the door before his cheeks catch flame.

 

Phil is still giggling by the time they make it to his car. Dan hands him the hoodie in silence, not knowing what to say.

 

“If you really think it’s a terrible idea, Dan, I can make up an excuse,” Phil offers, sweetly. “Your roommates are intimidating, but I’m an expert at avoiding social interaction.”

 

Phil chuckles at his own joke, making Dan smile.

 

He takes a deep breath, considering Phil’s proposal. It’s undoubtedly a bad idea, is the thing. Being close to Phil, in a dimly lit tavern with a very PDA-friendly gay couple, while there is alcohol involved, is a recipe for disaster. Dan’s heart is going to be ripped to pieces by Sunday, he’s sure.

 

But none of that is making him want to take Phil up on his offer of cancelling. Because the thing Dan is coming to realise, is that he would suffer a lot - more than a lot - to spend even five minutes in Phil’s close company. Even if it’s agony, knowing they can’t do anything about the tension between them.

 

Phil smiles at him, caramelly sweet, and Dan just sighs.

 

“It’s a really fucking bad idea, Phil.”

 

Phil nods, looking down. The smile slips from his gorgeous face.

 

“But please come over anyway.”


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phil’s positivity is so large that it outweighs anything sad. And it’s painful to see. Because Dan is nothing but his sadness right now. It fills him from head to toe. He wishes he could sweep it to one side like Phil has, and just enjoy being here, but he can’t. Phil is a rare jewel that Dan discovered in a dingy classroom, shrouded in the dust of an ancient bureaucratic system that doesn’t understand him. Dan found him, uncovered him, brushed away the dust, and now, at his most sparkling, he’s been stolen away.

“Dan?”

The sound of Phil’s voice, confused as it is, is like a blanket of calm. Dan’s shoulders release their tension, and he sits heavily down on his bed, eyes slipping shut.

The phone clamped to his ear stays quiet for a moment, and then Dan can hear something, a clattering noise.

“Dan, are you okay?” Phil asks, concern creeping into his tone now.

“Yeah,” Dan says in a breath, nodding as the relief washes over him. “Yeah, sorry, I’m… I was just…”

Dan trails off, teeth catching hold of his lip as he struggles with how to phrase this. The silence on the other end of the line goes on for around ten seconds.

“You’ve never called me before,” Phil notes quietly.

“First time for everything,” Dan says. He clears his throat, trying to gather himself together. “So, I was actually calling to say this is all a huge mistake, and that you shouldn’t come over tonight.”

“Oh,” comes Phil’s reply. There’s no mistaking the cut of disappointment in his voice.

Dan sighs, immediately feeling himself melt. “But I’m not gonna say that.”

“You’re gonna give me whiplash,” Phil says, making Dan smile.

“Sorry. I’m getting kind of anxious thinking about it is all,” Dan says, eyes travelling to the ceiling of his bedroom. “But talking to you is helping.”

“It is?”

Dan blinks in surprise. “Yeah, of course. You make everything better, didn’t you know?”

Phil laughs, sounding a little baffled. “No, I wasn’t aware. Um, that’s… really nice. I’m glad I can help you to feel… better. Is that okay to say?”

“I think so,” Dan says, shrugging to his empty room. “I’m not an expert in what’s okay and what’s not-okay for us from here on out.”

“No, me neither.”

“What are you doing?” Dan asks, mostly to steer the conversation into safer territory. “I heard clattering.”

“Oh, yeah, I’m baking cookies.”

“Cookies?” Dan says, sitting up a little straighter. “Cookies for who?”

He can hear Phil laughing at the eagerness of his tone. “For everyone. Teddy, Tyler, me, Buffy… hmm, can’t think of anyone else, though.”

“I hate you,” Dan tells him fondly. “What kind of cookies are they?”

“Pecan and cinnamon.”

“I think I just drooled on myself.”

Phil laughs again, low and happy. Dan can picture they way his eyes are crinkling, sending a blossoming flower of warmth spreading through his chest. He thinks of Phil, covered head to toe in flour, a rolling pin in his hand, cutting little shapes out of dough, feeding Buffy globs of icing and whispering to her not to tell.

“I want to bake with you,” Dan says, not really thinking. He can feel the hearts in his eyes still, they’re cloaking everything in a rosy-lovestruck-haze. “I mean, if it’s not against the rules.”

“There are rules now?”

“Well no, I suppose not, but-”

“I doubt John wouldn’t be as mean as to stop us from whipping up some cakes together, Dan.”

Dan snorts, rolling his eyes. “Especially if we bring him a few.”

“That’s a plan, then.”

“Okay,” Dan says with a smile, incredibly happy that they’ve scheduled another time to hang out, even if it’s ill-advised. “And we’re still on for tonight?”

“Unless you ring me up in an hour and cancel,” Phil says.

“Hah… I’ll try not to.”

“Seriously though,” Phil says, making Dan pause. “If you do get… anxious or anything. Not just about tonight, but ever… I want you to know that you can talk to me. You know, if it really does help you.”

The words knock the breath out of him. Nobody, Dan decides in that moment, not the ground Phil walks on, not the oxygen rushing into Phil’s lungs, will ever deserve him. He’s the purest, most selfless person on this earth.

“Thanks,” Dan whispers, though it’s a millionth of what he could say.

“No problem,” Phil tells him, sincerely. “I should… probably get back to the cookies. Unless you need me to…”

“No, no, it’s okay,” Dan assures him. “I’m okay now. I’m chill.”

Phil laughs. “So I don’t need to bring you baked goods to make you feel better?”

“Oh, weird, I seem to be getting all worked up again…”

Phil laughs again, louder and brighter. “Cookies on their way. See you later.”

“Bye, Phil,” Dan says softly, a smile still warm on his face.

“Bye.”

The line drops, but Dan holds the phone to his face for another minute or two, listening to the crackle of the void where Phil’s sweet, reassuring voice just was, letting it glide, smooth and silken, over his skin.

*

“What’s this?” Dan asks, perplexed as a glass of clear, bubbling liquid is shoved into his hand.

“A drink,” Tyler replies, one eyebrow raised. “Don’t try and tell me you don’t need it.”

“You’ve been sitting in that spot by the window with your knee jiggling a mile a minute for like an hour,” Teddy agrees, glancing over the top of his laptop. “Drink the fucking G & T.”

“I don’t need-”

“If you won’t do it for us, do it for the poor driveway.”

“What?”

“You’ve been giving the driveway a laser death stare,” Teddy explains, making Tyler laugh. “Give it a break. Drink the alcohol, and let your poor muscles relax.”

“He’s not exactly a scary man,” Tyler reminds him; suddenly the drink in Dan’s hand looks a lot more appetising. “He’s… well, I suppose he is rather intimidatingly attractive, but…”

Tyler trails off, his eyes glazing over. Teddy hurls a cushion at him.

“Quit daydreaming about Sexy Teacher,” he cries, annoyed. “He’s Dan’s anyway.”

Tyler smirks, walking over to the sofa and flopping down beside his boyfriend. “It’s unspeakably hot when you get all jealous, darling.”

Deciding that sobriety is, in fact, not his friend this evening, Dan gulps down some gin and tonic, wincing. He doesn’t particularly like the stuff, but Tyler loves to pretend he’s a bougie, pretentious gin connoisseur.

It’s at that moment that Dan hears the telltale sound of a car pulling into the driveway. He chokes a little on the gin, spluttering, and looks towards Tyler and Teddy in alarm.

“Ooh, here he is!” Tyler squeals, jumping up. “I’ll get the door.”

“Nope,” Dan objects, standing and grabbing Tyler by the arm. “You are not accosting him before he even gets inside, let me gradually lead him into the deep end at least.”

Tyler opens his mouth as if he’s about to object, but Dan hurries out of the room before he can listen to whatever inane protestation his flatmate is about to put forward. He gets to the front door just as the doorbell rings, and hauls it open before the sound has even finished.

Phil blinks in surprise, his hand still poised over the bell.

Oh, God, Dan thinks in despair. He looks sensational.

A thousand potential compliments rush through Dan’s blank mind, swirling into a frenzy. Phil’s hair is artfully tousled, fringe swept effortlessly to the side. He’s not wearing his glasses, meaning that the blue of his eyes shines out, pigmented and piercing. A tight black jumper hugs his torso, making him appear even leaner and taller. Teamed with the black skinnies he’s almost never without, he looks like he’s stepped off a runway at of Paris Fashion Week.

The only thing out of place is the flowery yellow cake tin tucked under one of his arms. Dan’s eyes fall to it, mostly so that he won’t gawp in a more inappropriate direction.

“Um, hi,” Phil says, and Dan realises he hasn’t said a word since he opened the door.

Resisting the urge to smack himself in the face, Dan laughs, feeling how pink his cheeks are becoming just at the sight of him. “Hi, sorry - my brain zonked out there for a second. Come in.”

Dan smiles in what he hopes is some semblance of a welcome, and steps aside to let Phil through. As Phil passes him, the tangy, sweet notes of his cologne brush into Dan’s senses, and he almost groans.

Instead, he takes a moment to gather himself, then shuts the door, sealing them both in the hallway, alone.

After a pretty awkward few moments of silence, where Dan genuinely can’t think of how to speak, Phil holds up the tin, smiling. “I brought cookies.”

“You did,” Dan agrees, reaching to receive the tin. “I mean, you said you would and… you followed through. Thank you.”

Phil smiles a little wider. “Well, they’re not all for you.”

“Too bad, because I’m eating every single one, the others can suck it.”

“What can we suck, darling?” Tyler asks, strolling into the hall, Teddy at his side. “Phil! You made it. And you look ravishing, might I say.”

“Oh, th-thank you,” Phil replies politely. “Good to see you again, guys.”

“I get the feeling you don’t wear black very often,” Teddy says, circling him, vulture-like. “Is that correct?”

“Uh, I do generally like to be a bit more colourful, I suppose.”

“Well, dear, I think if you wore black every day you’d probably knock a dozen people out just on your way into work,” Teddy says, laughing. “So, perhaps it’s a good thing.”

“Is he saying he likes it, or…?” Phil asks Dan in a whisper, though his eyes are glinting with amusement.

Dan lets out a soft chuckle, still feeling a little out of it. Perhaps that early G & T wasn’t such a great idea. “Yes, he likes it.”

“Come on then, fellas,” Tyler says loudly, clapping his hands. “Let’s get some drinks together.”

“Do you like gin, Phil?” Teddy asks as they usher Phil towards the kitchen. “I only ask because if you say no, Tyler will probably ask you to leave.”

“Uh, I thought we were going to the pub?” Phil says, throwing Dan a confused glance.

Dan just shrugs; he’s gotten used to letting Tyler and Teddy dictate his every move when it comes to nights out, as it’s far easier than trying to keep up with whatever mad plan they cook up, let alone put his own opinion in. He’s kind of forgotten that that isn’t actually very normal.

“Oh, we are,” Tyler assures him, disappearing into the kitchen. Dan sighs, following along behind them all. “But first we’re going to have a little drinkie here.”

“Oh, well, in that case, you’d better make mine just a T,” Phil says, eyeing the enormous bottle of fancy-looking gin in Tyler’s hands with a fair amount of wariness. “Minus the G.”

Tyler and Teddy both whirl around to face him, utterly scandalised. Dan wishes he had better reflexes, because their faces are priceless, and he would have loved to capture them on his phone camera for future blackmail.

A couple of seconds pass though, and then they melt to expressions of confusion. Much less interesting.

“Sorry, darling, I think I misunderstood,” Tyler says with a concerned bubble of laughter. “I thought you said you didn’t want any of my gin. Obviously I’m mistaken.”

Phil laughs. “It’s nothing personal. I’m a big gin fan, but… well, I can only really have one drink tonight, so I thought I’d save it for the pub.”

Dan frowns, fingers drumming on the lid of the tin in his hands. “What do you mean?”

“Well, I have to stay under the limit,” Phil explains, shrugging. The others continue staring in bewilderment. “... because I’m driving home,” he clarifies.

Oh, Dan thinks, blinking at the news. He hadn’t even considered that.

All of a sudden, Teddy and Tyler are bursting into laughter. “Oh, you are funny, Phil.”

“As if you’re driving home tonight!”

For some reason, Dan thinks he can see a light blush atop Phil’s cheeks. “Um… well, I have to get home somehow…”

“No, sweetie!” Tyler says, struggling as he attempts to unscrew the lid of the bottle in his hands. “I won’t hear of it. Stay over here! You can sleep on the couch, it’s very comfortable.”

“You would know, Ty,” Teddy says, plucking the bottle out of Ty’s hands and twisting the lid off in one go.

Tyler rolls his eyes, taking the opened bottle back again. “On the rare occasions we have a little tiff, I might have ended up getting some rest on it myself,” Tyler admits. “Before Teddy comes downstairs all teary-eyed and drags me back up to bed, of course.”

Teddy smacks Tyler on the bum, rather hard. “You’ll be joining Phil tonight if you’re not careful.”

“With pleasure,” Tyler grins, winking at Phil.

Dan’s fingers scrape a little against the metallic lid, and he winces. 

“Um, look, guys, it’s very sweet of you to offer, but I’m not sure whether-”

“I’m not taking no for an answer, Phil,” Tyler warns him. He shoves a freshly made gin and tonic into Phil’s hand, effectively silencing him.

Clearly at a loss, Phil turns to Dan, as though asking his thoughts. Dan shrugs in what he hopes is a breezy, ‘whatever’ kind of way. It seems to confuse Phil a bit, understandably, as Dan literally almost hyperventilated down the phone at him a few hours ago, and that was just over worries about him coming over at all.

But the thing is, as Dan told Phil yesterday, this is  _all_ a pretty bad idea, probably. Dan’s since surrendered himself to that. Besides, it’s not like he doesn’t desperately, achingly want Phil to stay over tonight. In fact, he can think of nothing more that he’d wish for, at this time.

“The couch is pretty comfy,” Dan says after a minute, taking one of the glasses Tyler is handing out.

“Perfect!” Tyler cries, holding up his gin and tonic in salute. “So it’s settled. We’re all getting smashed, exposing our deepest, darkest secrets to one another, becoming the best of friends, and then we’re all coming back here to sleep and forget the whole thing ever happened.”

“Are you okay with it, though?” Dan asks Phil, wanting to be sure. “I mean, I don’t want to force you into sleeping on my sofa.”

“Yeah,” Teddy agrees, suspiciously sincere. He takes a sip from his drink. “I’m sure Dan has plenty of better options for you if the couch isn’t appealing.”

“Teddy, I will eviscerate you,” Dan grits out, glaring at him. Luckily, Phil seems to find this very amusing.

“Oh,” Tyler sighs happily. He rests his elbows on Dan and Phil’s shoulders, clinking his glass against theirs. “This is going to be a very fun night, boys.”

*

Dan kind of knows he shouldn’t, but he sits beside Phil on the sofa. He can feel Phil’s leg pressed against his as he sips at his second gin and tonic of the evening. It’s warm and reassuring. If he closes his eyes, he can remember how it felt to have Phil’s thighs either side of him, the weight of his body piled into his lap.

“So, Phil, did you have fun in Paris?”

Dan’s eyes fly open at Teddy’s question. He and Tyler are curled into the armchair again, all intertwined legs and draped elbows.

“Yeah, it was really good,” Phil replies. “I think it was really educational for the kids, which is nice. Plus we crammed a lot in.”

“So I hear,” Tyler says. Dan immediately feels his heart start to race. Why, oh why did he ever tell Tyler a damn thing? “What was your favourite part of the trip, Philly?”

Dan’s eyes fall closed, and he sips more of his drink. When Phil doesn’t answer, he looks over in surprise. Phil seems to be struggling for how to respond.

“Personally, I loved the Musée D’Orsay,” Dan jumps in, trying to come to Phil’s rescue. “You’d have really liked it, Teddy - the walls were these huge Monet canvases-”

“Um, no offence, Dan, but we’ve heard you blabber on about Paris for a week,” Tyler interrupts him. “I believe I asked Phil.”

Helpless, Dan sighs in defeat, aiming an apologetic glance in Phil’s direction. He just smiles, and clears his throat, looking down into his glass.

“Probably the boat trip,” Phil says at last, his long fingers closing tightly around Dan’s heart.

“Boat trip?” Teddy asks, frowning. “You didn’t mention that, Dan.”

Phil glances at him, questioning, but Dan doesn’t bother to respond. It’s not exactly an uncrackable mystery, why he chose not to divulge this small part of the trip. The memories of the boat are a little too personal, a little too painful to share with his idiot flatmates.

So Dan just shrugs, sipping more of his drink. It’s halfway gone already. Perhaps he should slow down.

“Yeah, it was… just a small thing I booked as a surprise for the kids at the end,” Phil explains. He’s trying to play it down, make it seem like less than it was, Dan realises, marvelling once again that Phil is able to read him so easily. “Just one of those river cruises down the  _Seine_ , you know.”

“But-” Teddy starts to say, but Dan sits upright, needing to stop this conversation in its tracks.

“Hey, Phil made cookies for us,” he says as brightly as possible. “Let’s all have one.”

“Ooh, cookies!” Tyler exclaims, the boat forgotten, thank heavens.

Dan lifts himself up from the couch, walking briskly into the kitchen to find the tin Phil brought. His fingers rest atop the bright yellow lid, tracing the flowers etched into the design. He shuts his eyes, taking this moment of solitude to silently stuff each suffocating memory of that night last Sunday into the back of his mind.

It’s too much, to remember it now, in the face of everything. Of course that was Phil’s favourite moment of the trip. It’s Dan’s favourite moment of his entire life. It’s the moment when his very concept of reality exploded, supernova-style, as Phil’s lips crashed into his. With one unexpected kiss, he splintered Dan’s self-doubt into a thousand sparkling pieces, along with the certainty Dan had carried, that Phil would never, in a million universes, over a billion lifetimes, ever actually want him.

It still doesn’t make sense. It still feels like a dream.

The fairylights twinkling above their heads. The gentle rocking of the boat on the river over which a thousand lovers had once padlocked their names. The taste of red wine on Phil’s mouth. The silvery wisps of his breath, that Dan had been close enough to feel ghosting over his chin.

It’s a moment plucked from the most fantastical story. It’s the kind of thing that never happens to anyone, let alone Dan Howell, the anxious, socially-awkward teaching assistant from Reading, England.

If was a mad, perfect moment. And Dan will never know anything like it again, he’s sure.

“Hey,” a voice says, making Dan jump.

He turns to the doorway of the kitchen, heart fighting its way out of his chest. Phil is standing there, glass in hand. His expression is soft, like he’s looking at a lost kitten, rather than a twenty-something nerd staring at the tin he was supposed to bring in five minutes ago.

“Hi,” Dan says after a moment. “Sorry, I just… I dunno, I got caught up in my own head for a sec. I’ll bring this in.”

Phil nods, and neither of them move. “I’m sorry if I… said something I shouldn’t have.”

Dan scoffs. “Don’t be stupid. How were you supposed to know I didn’t tell them about, um, about…”

“The boat,” Phil says, a little sadly. “Why didn’t you?”

Dan sends him a look of scorn. “Come off it.”

Unexpectedly, Phil laughs. Dan joins in, both of them caught up in it for a moment. When he stops, Phil says, “it’s a nice memory.”

Dan shrugs, feeling his teeth bite at his lip, puncturing the skin. “It’s just hard to think about it right now, is all.”

“Yeah, I get it,” Phil says. He looks guilty, for some reason.

“Cookies will help,” Dan offers, picking the tin up and forcing a smile. “Come on. The others will have no problem eating me if they don’t get the baked goods they were promised.”

Phil doesn’t move, so Dan is forced to squeeze past him through the door. For the sake of his own sanity, he pretends he imagines the soft graze of Phil’s hand over his back as he goes.

*

“Please, take them away from me,” Tyler begs Teddy, who is feeding him a third cookie. “I’m going to have to book in three more gym sessions this week to make up for this.”

“Oh shut your face, you’re gorgeous and you know it,” Teddy says, rolling his eyes. He takes a bite of the cookie he’s holding, making an ‘mmm’ sound. “I have to say, Phil. You have truly exceeded my expectations. Must be all that time in Paris. The French do know how to bake.”

Phil chuckles politely, swallowing the last of his cookie. “Thanks. I did start baking a lot more when I lived in Paris, actually. It’s therapeutic, I find. And I was under a lot of stress, at the time.”

“ _Pourquoi_?” Tyler asks, intrigued.

“Oh, um,” Phil says, unmistakably uncomfortable all of a sudden. Dan watches curiously, chewing on his own cookie, as Phil shifts about. “I was… going through a breakup.”

Dan’s eyebrows lift; he doesn’t miss the worried glance Phil throws his way. He clears his throat, and drinks some more G & T, wondering if he’s about to have to listen to the wonders of whoever Phil’s ex was, on top of everything else.

“You had… a Parisian lover?” Tyler asks, struggling to sit upright with Teddy on his knee. “A  _paramour_ , perhaps?”

Phil laughs awkwardly. “No, nothing like that.  _Paramour_  tends to refer to people having illicit affairs. I was just seeing someone for a time. But it didn’t work out.” 

Dan rolls his eyes at Tyler, who is so clearly brimming with curiosity that it’s practically spilling out of his hungry eyes.

“These cookies are incredible, by the way,” Dan interjects, sensing Phil would like a change of subject.

Phil beams at him, opening his mouth to respond. Before he can get there, however, Tyler pipes up again.

“Male or female?”

Phil blinks at him. “Sorry?”

“Your non- _paramour_ ,” Tyler clarifies. “What gender were they?”

“Could be neither,” Teddy adds, nibbling. “We can’t  _cis-sume_.”

Dan snorts. “Did you just make that word up?”

Teddy grins. “It works, don’t you think? No point  _cis-suming_  something.”

“Guys! I’m waiting for Phil’s answer,” Tyler shouts crossly.

“It was a man,” Phil says slowly, like he’s treading through a minefield.

“So you’re gay?” Tyler asks.

“Ty! For fuck’s sake,” Dan cries, glaring at him. “You don’t have to answer him, Phil. He’s being a prat.”

Phil just shrugs. “It’s okay. I guess I don’t really know what the future might bring, but at this point in my life I’ve only ever liked boys.”

Dan’s mouth is dry, suddenly. He puts the rest of his cookie to one side for a moment, scared he might choke. He pours the remainder of his drink down his throat, not listening to word of whatever Ty is babbling about. Something about the Kinsey Scale.

“Shall we get going?” Dan asks the general room, not really caring if they agree. He stands up, gathering his and Phil’s empty glasses and the cake tin, then heading into the kitchen. “Come on, if we don’t leave now we’ll end up staying here all night.”

“True,” Dan hears Teddy say as he leaves the room. “S’not like that hasn’t happened a few times.”

Before they get out of the door, Dan insists on making up a bed on the sofa for Phil. He knows what Tyler and Teddy are like on these pub trips - Dan will be surprised if any of them stumble back later with enough sense to open the front door, let alone throw some sheets and blankets together for poor Phil to sleep on.

Phil tries to protest as Dan gets the pillows and covers out of the cupboard, but Dan won’t hear of it. He does his best to make the sofa seem comfy, then stands back to survey his work. Tyler sidles up beside him, resting his elbow on Dan’s shoulders.

“Not sure why you’re bothering, to be honest, honey,” he says. “Not like he’s going to be sleeping here, after all.” Dan shoves him off, annoyed.

“Don’t be a twat, Ty,” Dan hisses, looking around the living room in case anyone heard.

Luckily, Phil and Teddy seem to have already migrated out into the hall.

Tyler lifts his hands in defence, smirking. “Dan, I’m just going off the fact that Sexy Teacher has stared pointedly at your ass every time your back is turned.”

Dan groans in despair, his cheeks beginning to burn. “Ty, can you please not? You know it’s not gonna happen, I told you-”

“Actually you just sobbed in my arms and told me fuck all,” Tyler corrects him. “It made me think things were pretty hopeless, honestly, but seeing how you two are around each other, I can’t help but wonder what the fuck you’re playing at.”

“It’s complicated!”

“Is it? Or are you just being a wimp?”

Dan opens his mouth, indignant, but before he can respond, Teddy is poking his head around the door, looking impatient.

“Are you guys coming, or what?”

*

Their local pub is called The Cat & Bear. It’s an old-fashioned, proper English tavern, with ivy crawling along the red brick outside, hops hanging from the dark oak bar, and some hearty British ales and stouts on tap. They sell the cheaper stuff too, of course: Carlsberg and Stella and all the other ‘lad’ lagers. None of them are particularly keen on beer, but they always drink it here, mostly because they’re too afraid to ask for anything else. Places like The Cat & Bear make people like Dan, Tyler, and Teddy painfully aware of how ‘millennial’ they are with their skinny jeans, side-fringes and colourful array of sexualities.

“Four Peronis, please,” Dan says to Frank, the beefy, bearded old barman in a voice that might be a shade lower than normal. 

Frank nods at him, which in Dan’s eyes is the equivalent of a hug from the surly man. All three of them have been coming here long enough now that Frank must know who they are, so it’s important to remain friendly and civil to him.

“Ordering for me, I see,” Phil says, appearing at Dan’s left elbow.

“Oh,” Dan says, having not even thought about it. “Sorry, I didn’t- do you like beer, or-”

Phil laughs at him, resting a hand on his shoulder. Dan wonders if he’d be so tactile if the gin and tonic from earlier wasn’t coursing through his veins.

“It’s fine,” Phil assures him. “I can do beer.”

“That’s the spirit, Phil,” Tyler says, pushing in between them to grab two of the Peronis Frank is putting on the bar. He takes a huge gulp from one, then burps softly into the crook of his elbow, grinning with pride. “You need to channel that masculine energy. Like Teddy and I.”

Dan laughs at this, rolling his eyes. “How will we ever keep up with you?”

“I’ll just take these to our table, you’re alright with getting this round, right Dan?”

Before Dan can respond, Tyler has disappeared, practically sprinting to the table Teddy has secured for them in the back. Dan glares after him, muttering about ungrateful moochers under his breath.

“Twenty quid, son,” Frank says, so Dan turns back, digging into his pocket.

Before he can even locate his wallet however, Phil is holding out a twenty pound note, and Frank is taking it from him without so much as a hesitation.

“Phil!” Dan exclaims. “You can’t- you didn’t have to-”

“Well I did,” Phil says, picking up one of the beers and sipping it, eyebrows raised. “What’re you gonna do about it?”

Dan chokes on the sip of Peroni in his mouth, and pretends not to see the smirk Phil gives him in response. “Phil, if you flirt with me tonight I will combust.”

“Noted,” Phil says with a wink, making Dan want to strangle him. “Drink your beer, Howell.”

As Phil turns to walk towards the table, Dan feels his soul clawing its way out of his body, desperate to run after him, to seal him in an embrace and never let go. Instead, he nods his thanks at frowny Frank, and follows Phil to join the others.

*

“So how did you all meet?” Phil asks with a smile.

Dan’s a quarter of the way through his beer already, and it’s been two minutes since he sat down. The good news is, Phil is beautiful, and in the low lighting of this lamplit pub, his pale skin has a golden shimmer.

The bad news is, all of this beauty is squashed against Dan in the tight booth that the others have chosen. Teddy and Tyler, opposite them, are happily snuggled up against each other. Dan is trying to burrow into the wall at his side so that he doesn’t get the world’s most innappropriate boner from being pressed against the man he shouldn’t even be thinking about, let alone crammed drunkenly into a small space with.

He takes another gulp of beer. “We met at uni.”

“Dan and I were roomies,” Tyler says, grinning. “Isn’t that right, hun?”

“Really?” Phil asks, sounding intrigued. “Like, you shared a room?”

“I know, it’s a chilling thought,” Dan deadpans. “Don’t ask me how I restrained from stringing myself up with his collection of ties.”

Tyler rolls his eyes. “You loved it.”

Dan leans towards Phil, shaking his head. “He snores. Loudly.”

“I do not!”

“You do,” Teddy jumps in, causing Tyler’s mouth to drop. “Why do you think I bought you that nasal strip?”

“To stimulate my airflow- oh my God. The betrayal!”

Phil is laughing at them, his eyes light and happy. His smile is so big, so bright and sunny, that it seems like he has never been sad in his life. If anyone in this pub looked over, they’d never believe that Phil had ever sat on the floor of the staff bathroom yesterday and told Dan all the things he thought he should hear ‘ _because I know I won’t get to, now_ ’.

Phil’s positivity is so large that it outweighs anything sad. And it’s painful to see. Because Dan is nothing but his sadness right now. It fills him from head to toe. He wishes he could sweep it to one side like Phil has, and just enjoy being here, but he can’t. Phil is a rare jewel that Dan discovered in a dingy classroom, shrouded in the dust of an ancient bureaucratic system that doesn’t understand him. Dan found him, uncovered him, brushed away the dust, and now, at his most sparkling, he’s been stolen away.

He doesn’t realise he’s staring until Phil says his name.

“Hm?” Dan answers, not really present, still.

“I said do you want to play?”

Dan blinks in bewilderment, dazzled by the bright blue of Phil’s eyes. “Play what?”

“Truth or dare,” Tyler answers, grinning mischievously.

 _Oh no_ , Dan thinks, straightening in fear.

“It’ll be fun!” Teddy sings, smiling at him.  _Definitely oh no_.

At a loss, Dan turns back to Phil. The older man has an ignorant, naive expression on his face, resembling someone who has no fucking clue what he’s in for.

Phil shrugs at him; there’s a glimmer in his eye. “How bad could it be?”

*

“Truth.”

“Would you rather have Frank over there give you a twelve hour full body massage,” Tyler begins, and Teddy pales.

“With a happy ending,” Dan adds, laughing.

“Right! Or kiss him for… hmm, ten minutes.”

“With tongues,” Phil joins in, laughing as well. Teddy groans, placing his head into his hands.

Despite Dan’s initial reservations, the game is going well. It’s certainly helping to lift the tension Dan can feel wrapped like writhing snake around his and Phil’s shoulders. They’re having fun, and it’s honestly just what Dan needs right now. He hasn’t smiled properly since Tuesday.

“Ugh, I guess… kiss him,” Teddy says, and everyone makes noises of disgust.

“Poor Frank,” Tyler says, glancing over at where the man in polishing a glass behind the bar.

“Um, excuse me?” Teddy exclaims, jabbing Tyler in the chest. “Poor  _Frank_?”

Tyler just laughs at him, turning to Phil. “Okay, you’re up, Frenchie.”

“You know, I’m from Rossendale,” Phil tells him, chuckling. “England. I just speak French.”

“Whatever,” Tyler says, batting his objections away. “It’s your turn,  _mon chéri_.”

Shaking his head in amusement, Phil leans back in his seat, thinking. “Hmm. I think I’ll go with d-”

Dan’s hand flies out before he can stop it, clapping itself over Phil’s mouth. Phil’s eyes widen in alarm, head pushed back against the seat by the force.

“Don’t do it,” Dan urges, suddenly panicked. “They’re evil, Phil. Don’t underestimate them.”

Tyler scoffs, looking put out. “Dan, let the poor man make up his own mind.”

Dan removes his hand, still terrified. The problem is, Phil sees the good in everyone. He needs to realise that Tyler and Teddy only have a very limited supply of goodness in their entire bodies. And when they’re together, in situations like this, it almost entirely disappears.

Phil glances around the table, looking far more wary now than he was a moment before. He licks his lips, making Dan blush.

“Uh, truth then, I guess.”

“Ugh,” Tyler groans, banging his forehead on the table. “You see what you’ve done, Daniel? You’re a manipulative little weasel, using your seductive powers on a poor, unsuspecting young Frenchman-”

Dan tunes him out in order to lean close to Phil. “You made the right decision. He definitely had a dare in mind for you. Be careful.”

Phil nods seriously, but Dan can see the disbelieving little smirk he wears beneath it. He still doesn’t understand that he’s in danger here. Tyler is a fucking wild card, and as for Teddy once he’s had a few…

“Fine!” Tyler shouts, having finished his rant, apparently. “A fucking truth for Phil, then.”

“Where on his body is Dan most sensitive?” Teddy asks sweetly, tilting his head to one side.

Tyler turns to him, mouth agape. “Oh, I  _love_  you.”

The pub goes deathly silent, Dan is sure. A hush descends over the entire room, and all eyes swivel their way. Dan feels like he’s about to burst into flames, and as he stares down into the remains of his beer, he imagines it boiling under the heat of his laser-stare.

Phil laughs, sounding a bit thrown by the question. Perhaps that might be an understatement, but Dan genuinely can’t bring himself to look.

“Uh, how would I know that?” Phil asks, and Dan’s eyes flutter closed.

Teddy shrugs, smiling too wide. Dan had it all wrong. Tyler was never the one to fear. It was Teddy, all this time, the true demon, the ultimate nemesis, hidden behind Tyler’s boisterous attitude-

“No reason,” he chirps, taking a sip of his beer.

Tyler is kissing his hand in adoration; Dan wonders how much paperwork would be involved in trying to prematurely get out of their year-long lease of the house. 

Dan takes a deep breath and sits up, forcing himself to look Phil in the eye. His expression is unreadable, but calm.

“So… you told them, then,” Phil guesses, one eyebrow cocked; somehow he’s still smiling, and it’s the only thing that’s holding Dan together.

Dan grimaces. “I didn’t mean to… it’s just that after you… on the boat-”

“ _Aha_ , so the boat was a thing!” Tyler interrupts, but Teddy shushes him.

“-after that,” Dan continues, his words jumbling together in his haste to get them out. “I was in the room alone and I was freaking out, so I don’t know why the fuck I thought it was a good idea, but I texted Ty. I just don’t have any other friends I could talk to about it and… yeah. So they know.”

Phil is nodding slowly, digesting the information as it spills, garbled, from Dan’s mouth.

“Say something, for the love of God,” Dan urges, feeling like he’s about to tumble over some glacial cliff-face.

“Neck,” Phil says, baffling everyone.

“Sorry?” Tyler asks.

“His neck,” Phil says again, he swallows some of his beer. “That’s where he’s most sensitive.”

Immediately, Dan seizes up, mortified, and buries his face in his elbow on the table. He groans, listening to the cackles of laughter coming from the other side of the table.

“I knew it!” Tyler exclaims, which is bullshit, Dan can’t help but think. “Steph would never tell me, but I just  _sensed_  it from how she smiled when I guessed his neck, do you remember Ted-”

“Who’s Stephanie?” Phil asks, calmly sipping some more beer.

Dan sits bolt upright, the humiliation slipping into terror once again. His heart simply cannot take this veering between extreme emotions, he’s sure. He tries to glare at Teddy and Tyler, to stop them from answering, but they are too plastered at this point to remember he’s even there.

“Oh, that’s Dan’s ex-girlfriend,” Teddy replies cheerily.

“Scary Stephanie,” Tyler laughs. “We call her that now because whenever we meet up with her all she does is glare at Dan and throw passive aggressive insults about him into conversation.”

“Like when she said he was always dropping not-so-subtle hints that he’s a furry-”

“Oh my GOD, please shut up!”

Tyler and Teddy turn to Dan, startled.

“Oh, it’s okay, sweetie. Phil understands!” Tyler says, giving him a bright smile.

Dan just rubs his eyes with his palms, trying to summon Satan himself to come and smite these two fuckwits before anything else comes out of their stupid mouths.

“I need another drink,” Dan groans, getting to his feet. He doesn’t dare look at Phil, because he knows he would instantly splinter into pieces, no matter what expression he found on Phil’s face. Instead, he stares resolutely at the table. “Can I get past you, please?”

As if it hadn’t even occurred to him until that point, Phil leaps up at once, sidestepping out of the booth so that Dan can get out. Dan mutters a vague ‘thanks’ and strides straight to the bar, not even bothering to ask if anyone else wants anything.

He beelines for Frank - sweet, predictably silent Frank - cursing himself for ever allowing this night to happen, and trying very, very hard not to imagine what further intimate details about his life Teddy and Tyler could be discussing with Phil right now.

*

Just as Dan feels the first, glorious sip of sharp, crisp Peroni on his tongue, a hand is slapping down a ten pound note onto the bar beside him.

“I’ll have what he’s having,” Phil tells Frank with a smile so big, so charming, that Frank actually looks a little dazed.

“Oh, God, please allow me a moment to recover,” Dan groans, still not meeting his eye. “And I am absolutely paying for these, so-”

“Dan, your flatmates just outed you as a furry to a guy you’ve made out with once,” Phil reminds him. “I’ll get your drink.”

Dan turns to him, his defences flaring. “No, wait, okay, I’m not a furry, it was just a  _joke_ \- Stephanie had no sense of humour, it was one of the reasons I broke up with her-”

Phil kisses him on the cheek.

It’s an effective method of stopping the rambling, Dan will give him that. His elbow also slips off the bar in his surprise, and he nearly topples to the dirty  floor. Phil catches him by the elbow just in time.

The whole few seconds are like a scene from a silent film.

“Uh,” Dan says, sure that Phil’s lips are probably scalded from the furnace of his cheeks. “I don’t… did you mean to…”

“Here you are, son.”

Phil turns to take the frothing pint from Frank, and presses the ten pound note into his outstretched hand. Dan is too dazed to argue, at this point.

“ _Merci_ ,” Phil says, and the corner of Frank’s mouth quirks up.

It only makes the whole situation ten times more surreal.

“I shouldn’t have done that, I know,” Phil says quietly to Dan, one finger scooping up some beer-froth and depositing it into his mouth. Dan’s eyes helplessly follow the action. “I don’t appear to have a whole lot of self-restraint this evening.”

Dan’s eyes fall closed. “Great,” he says through gritted teeth. “Because we both know what a master of composure and dignity I am.”

Phil chuckles. “Are you really a furry?”

“No!” Dan exclaims, spilling some of his beer in frustration. “I told you-”

“I’m kidding,” Phil laughs, placing a hand on Dan’s arm. It could be made of razorblades, it’s so painful to feel. “Your flatmates are fun, but they seem to be kind of, um, what’s the word…?”

“Inconsiderate?”

“I was gonna go with dickheads, but sure,” Phil jokes, eyes sparkling.

Dan wonders if the reason Frank smiled in what is the first instance Dan has seen in all the time he’s been coming here, is because it’s hopeless to look at Phil and do anything but. He’s an ocean of warm, clear water, rippling and sparkling on a summer day. Dan wants to dive in, to submerge himself and never come out. More than that. He wants to drown.

“Is that what you are, then?” Dan finds himself saying.

Phil frowns in confusion. “Hm?”

“‘A guy I made out with once,” Dan reminds him. “A minute ago you said…”

“Oh,” Phil says, his smile fading a little. He shrugs. “I guess, yeah. But I hope I’m more than that, too.”

“Like what?” Dan says, his eyes stinging.

“Well, I hope I’m your friend, Dan.”

The fist that’s been clamped around Dan’s heart all night squeezes tight, too tight, and he feels it deflate like a burst balloon, until its shrivelled, a husk of itself.

“Oh,” Dan whispers, staring into his drink. “Yeah, of course you are.”

*

When they get back to the table, Tyler and Teddy are, rather noisily, making out. 

Dan and Phil sit opposite them, eyes wide in a kind of fascinated horror, as they watch them paw at one another.

“It’s kind of grotesque… but I can’t look away,” Phil says softly. He immediately takes an enormous gulp of beer.

“They do this every time,” Dan sighs. “Imagine being here alone with them.”

“That sounds even worse.”

“Welcome to most of my Saturday nights.”

Phil turns to face him. “Maybe next time you should hang out with me instead.”

Dan snorts. “Right. Because we’re doing the mates thing now.”

“Yeah,” Phil says, a tiny smile on his face. “Mates-dates.”

Dan’s poor, shrivelled heart gives a tiny pang. “It was a real date once. How did that happen.”

“Dan,” Phil says, sad.

“Yeah,” Dan sighs, staring bitterly at Tyler and Teddy. “I know.”

How come it all came so easily to them? Dan lived with Tyler for their first year of university. Then one day, Teddy sat behind Dan in the lecture hall and noticed him streaming _Peep Show_  on his laptop instead of taking notes. He leaned forwards and asked Dan to turn the subtitles on, and they became immediate friends. Dan brought him back to the flat one day, he met Ty, and that was it.

They dated for a while, had a lot of loud sex in the bedroom next to Dan’s, then in third year, Teddy moved in. And when Tyler and Dan decided to change up the flat for a bigger place somewhere further away from the town, Teddy was just included in the move.

It was all so simple with them.

Dan turns to Phil, a bit surprised at how close they’ve positioned themselves. Dan tells himself to move away, because it’s not helping things, but his body isn’t listening. Phil is like a magnet for him, alluring and irresistible.

One of Phil’s hands reaches up and brushes a strand of hair from Dan’s forehead. “What’re you thinking about?”

Dan could cry. He really could.

Phil’s eyes are  _so many_  shades of blue.

“Oh, just how the world hates me and wants me to suffer,” Dan replies in a vague attempt to keep things light.

Phil looks like he’s been struck with a hammer. The finger he used to sweep away the strand of hair traces around the curve of Dan’s cheek, gliding across his jaw.

“Fuck it,” Phil whispers.

Dan’s eyes widen at the unusual sound of Phil swearing, and then he’s being kissed. 

Not just kissed, but  _really_  kissed. 

He feels his head being cradled in two big, sturdy hands. Phil’s lips are sealed to his, soft but unyielding, trapping the breath in his lungs. Phil’s fingers plunge into his hair, raking over the base of Dan’s skull, making him shudder.

Dan leans into him, wanting closer, more, softer, rawer - everything he can get. Phil is a rain storm, splashing over the parched earth of Dan’s hopeless desire, conjuring life back into his roots, coaxing the withered leaves from their furls.

Dan is only aware of his own surroundings again when he hears a voice splitting through the heavenly vacuum that is Phil kissing him into dizzied, star-grazed pieces.

“Woaah, what’s goin’ on here then, fellas?” Tyler asks, apparently having surfaced from Teddy’s esophagus long enough to notice what was happening.

Phil draws back, sighing, and Dan’s entire soul is ripped out of his body, attached to Phil as he leans away.  “Problem, Tyler?”

“Nope,” Ty replies, staring at Dan, eyes wide and questioning. “Do continue.”

Without thinking about it, Dan grabs hold of Phil by the collar of his jumper and pulls him in, kissing him soundly, holding him in place. Phil makes a noise of surprise against his lips, laughing a little, but he allows it to happen nevertheless.

If Tyler and Teddy whistle and cheer in the background, Dan pretends not to hear them.

*

It usually takes the three of them far longer to wind their way back home from the pub than it does to walk down there, because, for lack of a better explanation, by the time they leave The Cat & Bear, they’re all usually plastered.

This time however, it takes even longer.

This is mostly because Dan cannot, for the life of him, stop kissing Phil. As he pauses to push their lips together for the third time in what must be five steps, he starts to wonder if he might have some kind of addiction. He’s never heard of anyone getting addicted to anything in less than half an hour, but that’s the only explanation he can think of.

“Dan, for God’s sake, Phil’s mouth will be there when we get home,” Teddy yells as he notices how far behind they are. “You’ve got the fucking house keys, now hurry up.”

“Don’t listen to him, he’s grumpy because he thinks he’s gonna get laid when we get in, and you guys are preventing that,” Tyler calls to them, laughing.

Upon hearing this, Teddy promptly hoists Tyler up onto his shoulder, fireman style, making him shriek. Dan laughs as he watches Teddy begin running with him down the dark, deserted street, Tyler cursing and threatening him all the while.

“I’m surprised he can lift him,” Phil comments.

“Teddy’s one of those weirdly strong people,” Dan says, the two of them falling into step together, their linked hands swinging between them. “Looks like a twig, lifts like a Womping Willow.”

Phil chuckles. “Is that what you’re like, too?”

“Fuck no, I can’t lift a marshmallow.”

Before Dan can even fathom what’s happening, his arms are being pulled over Phil’s neck from behind, and his feet are no longer touching the floor. In seconds he’s hoisted onto Phil’s back, his thighs either side of Phil’s waist, clutched in his big, strong hands.

“Oh my God, oh my God,” Dan babbles, terrified. He clings on for dear life, much to Phil’s amusement, and then they’re moving, faster than Dan would have thought possible, tearing down the road at a mad speed. “Oh my God, Phil, what the fuck are you-”

They catch up to Tyler and Teddy, who both scream with laughter when they see what’s happening. Somehow, there’s a half-incomprehensible conversation, and then they’re racing each other down the road, Tyler on Teddy’s back, Dan on Phil’s.

Dan is screaming for his life, so it seems, and somehow they’re winning. When they cross the finish line (a streetlight), Phil somehow swivels Dan round his body, allowing him to slip off, and kisses him, in the middle of the road, to the tune of Tyler’s screams of  _‘cheaters!’_.

*

Tyler insists on the final drink when they get home. Dan tries to protest, because honestly the walls are already breathing, but Tyler cannot be reasoned with, particularly when drunk.

They sit in the lounge, Dan on the end of the sofa where Phil’s feet will be when he lays down here tonight. He feels like he’s floating, like the air itself is made of helium, and he’s about to drift off into the centre of the room, buffeted about like a feather in a breeze. Then, he looks down at his hand, interlocked with Phil’s so tightly that he wonders whether the lack of blood flow might affect him. Phil is anchoring him to the spot, keeping him safe, present, whole.

Phil smiles at him, sparks of colour flying from his beautiful face. There are no words in Dan’s mind anymore, when he looks at Phil. Only shapes, vibrations, and thick, glutinous adoration, coating every muscle, every vein, every molecule of his body.

“Ugh, get a room,” Teddy says, making Tyler giggle.

Phil blushes, tearing his eyes from Dan’s. “Actually guys, I think you’ll find you’re in my room.”

“You’d better fucking not have sex on this couch, Dan,” Tyler warns.

“Oh my God, Ty,” Dan groans; he’d actually thought the humiliation was over for the night. Oh, what a fun treat it is to find out that that’s not true.

“Who wants to watch some bad movies and drunkenly bitch about the actors?” Teddy asks brightly.

Tyler groans, his eyes rolling back. “Nobody does, darling.”

“But-”

“I think it’s time for bed, don’t you?”

The protest dies on Teddy’s lips, and he visibly perks up, nodding. “Good idea.”

Teddy downs the last of his G & T in one gulp, and rises from the armchair, holding out a hand for Ty.

“Night, guys!” Teddy calls as Tyler stands to join him, rolling his eyes at Dan and Phil.

“He’s so easy,” Tyler tells them. “Night boys. Hope the sofa isn’t too uncomfortable, Phil.”

There’s an obvious laugh concealed in his voice, and Teddy hears it at once, snorting.

“Yeah, hope you have an okay night out here all on your own, Phil!” Teddy calls over his shoulder, sending Tyler into fits of giggles. “Dan, Tyler and I will all see you in the morning!”

“Fuck  _off_ , will you,” Dan shouts vaguely as he hears footsteps climbing the stairs, and then, mercifully, they are gone.

In their absence, a silence settles, like the dust after a tornado.

“So,” Dan says after a moment, just for something to break the quiet. Phil’s thumb is stroking over the top of his knuckles - very distracting. “D’you… do you wanna watch a film or something? We could watch Buffy, I think it’s on Netflix…”

Phil uses their connected hands to drag Dan across the space between them, until they’re pressed against one another, faces close. Dan’s heart is about to give out, he’s sure. Phil’s kiss re-inflated it, but it’s still damaged, and unsure.

Dan has no idea what is happening. This whole night has been the wildest rollercoaster, throwing him curveballs left and right. He doesn’t think he’s had one consecutive emotion for more than three minutes at one time, all evening.

Why would Phil kiss him, now, after everything he’s said, after breaking Dan into bits as he listed all the reasons he couldn’t? Dan feels like he’s been hurled out into space, totally lost, spinning and tumbling through a void, surviving on the snippets of oxygen Phil is handing him in the form of kisses.

“Dan, stop thinking,” Phil tells him in a whisper. “I did it, I kissed you. It’s too late to take it back. I broke the rules, and it’s already happened. Let’s not think about it anymore.”

“I don’t know if I can do that,” Dan admits, saddened by his own words.

Phil frowns, but nods in understanding. “Can we stop thinking about it… just for tonight, then?”

Dan hesitates, caught up again in the impossible depths of Phil’s swirling blue eyes. Their lips are so close already, but Phil tilts forwards just a little, brushing them together. And in that one, fleeting touch, a tsunami surges up inside of Dan, ferocious in its want for the man in front of him, suffocating and  _everywhere_.

“Okay,” Dan finds himself saying.

He expects Phil to kiss him, then, but instead he just smiles. It’s a smile of relief, Dan thinks, of letting go of whatever troubles that might have been plaguing that bizarre, beautiful mind.

In the wake of the expected kiss, Dan shifts, feeling all of a sudden unsure. 

What exactly is going to happen now?

“So, did you want me to put Buffy on?”

An amused smile forms on Phil’s lips. “No,” he says softly. “She’d only get jealous.”

“Of what?”

This time, Phil does kiss him. He hauls Dan onto his lap, and kisses him senseless, his hands bracing Dan’s waist, fingertips skimming the skin below the hem of Dan’s shirt.

Dan falls into it, tasting nirvana in the sweep of Phil’s tongue across his lip, and feeling, in his pounding heart, the formation of a new star. Phil uses his teeth, capturing Dan’s lip, scraping along his jaw. He moves to Dan’s neck, lighting every single one of Dan’s nerves on fire; Dan winds his fingers into Phil’s hair, tightly - maybe too tightly - but Phil doesn’t seem to care.

At the very instant Dan can’t take a second more, he draws back, sensing another hickey is already blooming, but hardly giving it a second thought. He brings his forehead to Phil’s, breathing hard, and says, “you don’t have to sleep here, you know.”

Phil smiles, mischievous. “I don’t?”

“Not if you… don’t want to.”

“But, Dan,” Phil says, his voice innocent, his hands sliding up Dan’s thighs. “Where else would I sleep?”

“Maybe…. you won’t be sleeping,” Dan replies, internally cringing at his attempts at flirtation.

How does Phil make this look so easy?

Phil’s hands are on his hips now, gradually moving still; Dan’s trying to breathe through it, but he can feel how the touch is affecting him, systematically unthreading each stitch that’s holding him together.

“Why would I not be sleeping, exactly?”

That’s it, Dan decides. He cannot take one fucking millisecond more of this. Phil is right, they can shove everything else to the side, because Dan has spent what feels like eons waiting for this opportunity. So, he slides off Phil’s lap, stands up, and holds out his hand.

“Allow me to demonstrate,” Dan says.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> subscribe to this story for updates! i post new chapters on wednesdays! (this week was an exception lol) also follow me on tumblr!
> 
> @danfanciesphil 
> 
> xx


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I think I’m falling,” Dan confesses, winding his hands even tighter into Phil’s jumper.
> 
> “C’est bien,” Phil whispers, softly. “Je te tiens.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Read the translation of the French here! 
> 
> http://danfanciesphil.tumblr.com/post/170086095855/translation-of-french-chapter-13

It’s safe to say that when he woke up, Dan was not under the impression that he’d have Phil Lester in his room later that night. In other words, his room is a goddamn tip. This, however, does not seem to be bothering Phil. In fact, Dan thinks as he’s pressed up against his closed bedroom door, he’d go as far as saying that, upon entering, Phil hadn’t so much as glanced at anything besides Dan before shoving him up against the door.

“S-sorry about the mess,” Dan manages to say between kisses.

Everything is swirling, and he’s clinging to Phil’s shirt for dear life. He’s sure that somewhere on the way back from the pub he tripped and fell into a chasm, is falling into some hyper-real version of Wonderland, still, and can’t see the floor.

Phil laughs against his lips; Dan imagines he can feel the sound of it humming in his bones.

“I don’t care about the mess,” Phil is saying.

“I think I’m falling,” Dan confesses, winding his hands even tighter into Phil’s jumper.

“ _C’est bien_ ,” Phil whispers, softly. “ _Je te tiens_.”

Dan whimpers, the unfamiliar words filtering through his skin, slipping straight into his bloodstream. Phil moves to his throat then, lips searing kisses against the skin, dragging over his frantic pulse.

Pressed against the door as he is, Dan can’t move away, can’t pull back even for a second. It’s so unfair, he thinks, another small gasp slipping from his lips, that Phil knows just how to do this to him, has already found the way to get him to a stage of incoherency. How can Dan hope to match this level of expertise?

“Phil, fuck, I can’t-”

Phil pulls back slightly. His eyes are gleaming in the low light; Dan left his bedside lamp on earlier, and it’s the only source now, pale yellow and so soft it barely does anything. It doesn’t matter though, Dan thinks, because Phil is so close that he can see every contour of his face, every strand of his dark hair.

Phil leans in slowly, his breath a little ragged. He takes Dan’s lower lip between his teeth, pulling at it gently. As Dan struggles to breathe, he feels Phil’s hands start to slip under the waistband of his jeans, gentle and searching, before they slip round to unbutton his fly.

Dan groans quietly, something electric shooting up each of his arms.

“Dan,” Phil intones, his hand sliding into the front of Dan’s jeans. “Is this okay?”

Astounded that such a question would even cross Phil’s mind at this moment, Dan groans again, nodding emphatically.

“Yes, fuck, yes,” he says, pushing his hips forwards, into Phil’s palm. “I give you my full consent to do whatever the fuck you want, just-”

Phil’s hand slips down over the bulge of his erection, silencing him. “ _Bien_.”

Dan’s head falls forward, resting against Phil’s shoulder. Phil’s hand is moving gently, slowly; it crosses Dan’s mind that he doesn’t think he’s ever been this aroused before in his whole life. The tips of Phil’s fingers spark quick electric shocks into him; Dan feels Phil’s other hand winding into his hair, tugging backwards in order to kiss him.

“ _Je veux savoir quel goût tu as_ ,” Phil whispers; just from the way his eyes are hooded, Dan knows that whatever he said wasn’t exactly PG-13.

Then, Phil’s hand is drawing free of his trousers, and he’s sinking to his knees. Dan’s legs immediately jellify at the sight, and he has to grip the door handle to stop himself from falling to Phil’s level.

“ _J'y ai tellement pensé_ ,” Phil murmurs, somehow managing to sound utterly sinful, incomprehensible as his words might be.

His hands are pulling Dan’s jeans over his hips, sliding them down his thighs. All Dan can do is hold tightly to the door handle, and step out of the jeans once Phil gets them around his ankles.  

Phil leans towards him, his palms pressed against the tops of Dan’s legs. Part of Dan wants to close his eyes, to squirm away from the intensity of this moment, but he knows that the sight in front of him is probably the most incredible he’ll ever bear witness to, so he doesn’t allow himself to so much as blink.

Phil leans in, his mouth parted, and pushes his soft lips against the front of Dan’s underwear, beneath which his hardness is starting to burn with frustration. At this mere touch, Dan feels a soft whine escape his throat, and he lifts a hand to his mouth in order to bite it.

Phil’s lower lip drags over the length of him, curved upwards as it is beneath the tight white material of his Calvin Klein’s. His tongue traces along the line of it, making Dan twitch, and then Phil is sliding his hands up, tugging at the waistband of the briefs. Dan leans forwards, trying to help Phil pull them over his ass, exposing him completely.

He looks down into Phil’s eyes, as exposed as he’s ever felt, and is met with a slow, appreciative smile. “ _Comme je le pensais..._ ,” Phil says, one loose fist hand taking hold of him, “ _entièrement magnifique_.”

Before Dan can try to decipher whatever Phil is trying to tell him, he feels a mouth slip over him, slick and soft, impossible not to push into, though he tries to keep himself still. His hand darts out to grab Phil’s shoulder, squeezing hard as the otherworldly sensation of Phil’s mouth, sliding over him back and forth, floods every chamber of his body.

He bites his thumb, whimpering, able only to watch helplessly as Phil takes him so swiftly, so wholly, into his mouth - two bright, blue eyes peering up through the strands of his jet black fringe.

Phil is really, really good at this. And it’s a problem. Dan was not optimistic about his self-control before Phil sank to his knees, but now Dan is convinced he will not be able to last much longer. Phil’s mouth is heavenly, but the sight of him - dear God, the sight of him - ruffled and hungry, his pupils blown and his pink lips stretched wide… Dan can’t cope.

“Phil, I- I think I’m gonna… you should st-stop,” Dan says, thighs trembling with the effort of keeping himself standing.

Phil pulls off obediently, but only to run his tongue along the length of him, base to tip. Dan’s knees instantly buckle, but he manages to right himself before he slips all the way to the ground.

Phil laughs, the sound of it a little raspy, which in itself is enough to have Dan on the edge. Phil licks his lips slowly, a tiny ‘mm’ escaping, and says, “come, Dan. It’s okay.”

He slips his mouth back around Dan’s length, letting Dan slide straight into the warm, tight space and sucking hard. He swallows once, and Dan is gone, unable to stop himself from moaning as he crash-lands, finally, at the bottom of the rabbit hole. The surreal, magic wonderment of a new dimension surrounds him, pouring through his veins, splicing through his chest, pushing up into his throat until it spills out of his mouth in the agonised cry of Phil’s name.

Once the rush is fading to a thin spread of tingles across his skin, Dan slumps against the wall, gasping as Phil pulls off him at last, licking his lips as he gets back to his feet.

“Fuck, that was…” Dan tries to say, stifled as Phil buries his face in the crook of Dan’s neck, mouthing at the soft, thin skin connecting his ear and jaw. “Oh… God…”

He’s being pulled then, staggering blindly as Phil walks them over to the unmade bed. Dan’s never been more glad he opted for a double when he moved into this place. He’d considered a single once, but Stephanie had insisted. Not that he’s remotely thinking about her right now.

Phil pushes him down onto the mattress, a ‘thwomp’ sounding as the back of Dan’s head connects with the twisted pile of his grey plaid duvet in the middle. Absurdly, even as Phil crawls on top of him, Dan finds himself worrying about what Phil will think of him, choosing this dull, colourless pattern, and not even being bothered to make the bed.

Phil starts unbuttoning Dan’s shirt, clearly not in the slightest bit concerned with either of these things, and the worry slips from his mind.

“Wait, wait,” Dan says, clutching feebly at Phil’s hands. “Let me…”

He tries to sit up, pawing at Phil’s tight black jumper with trembling hands - aftershocks from the cataclysmic orgasm - and Phil chuckles, sensing his distress. He takes Dan’s hands in his own, and brings them to his mouth to kiss. 

“You want me to take my clothes off, Dan?”

Dan whines, caught on the low, authoritative tone Phil is using; does he know how his teacher-voice affects him? He must, if the smirk on his face is anything to go by. Helpless to do anything about this, Dan just nods emphatically, hoping that his eagerness will come through in his expression alone.

Phil smiles, running a hand over Dan’s thigh, as if to soothe him. Sprawled on his back as he is, Dan can only watch as Phil takes hold of the hem of his jumper and peels it off, exposing a lean, pale body beneath, smattered with a fine layer of dark chest hair.

His waist tapers in, but his hips are full, and wide as his shoulders, giving him a long, curved silhouette. His stomach is toned, with a thin trail of dark hair snaking down, tantalisingly, beneath his jeans.

Phil throws the jumper aside and delves back down towards Dan, kissing along his jaw as he continues to unbutton Dan’s shirt. Dan manages to get his hands bracing Phil’s jaw, and hauls him back up, smashing their mouths together. The sight of Phil, shirtless and towering above him in this bed, will stay etched into his brain forever, he knows.

The taste of him is altered, Dan notices, this time. There’s a tinge of something salty, coppery, lacing his tongue. It hits Dan in an instant that he’s tasting himself in Phil’s mouth, and he gasps, the thrill of it slicing through him, making him pull Phil closer.

His hands slide over Phil’s bare back, legs winding around him, locking them together. His naked skin is warm and smooth to the touch; he can feel each vertebrae of Phil’s sloping spine beneath his wandering fingers as he moves them down, over the bump of Phil’s waistband until his palms are resting atop his bum.

“Take these off,” Dan demands, breathless from the ferocity of Phil’s kisses. He hooks a thumb into Phil’s waistband, indicating what he means.

Chuckling, Phil leans back up, and removes his belt in one slick motion, pulling it from the loops in one go. The sight of it knocks the air out of Dan’s lungs, knocks all coherency out of his brain, and he says, “will you fuck me?”

Phil pauses, his hands slowing to a stop as they unbutton his fly. He runs a careful, assessing gaze over Dan’s flushed, wide-eyed face. “Have you… ever done that before?”

Dan thinks seriously about lying. If it would get him what he wants, he’d try anything. But, inevitably, he knows he’d never convince Phil, who is undoubtedly the more experienced one in this area.

He shakes his head, biting his lip. “But I want to with you.”

Phil leans back on his heels, his fly open, revealing a sliver of the dark hair beneath, leading tantalisingly into the tight blue boxer shorts beneath.

“Maybe that’s not such a good idea, this time,” Phil says slowly, clearly at war with himself.

Dan tries not to dwell too much on the idea of ‘this time’, which highly implies a ‘next time’, and instead sits up on his elbows, looking Phil in the eye. He can feel the desperation leaking out of his expression.

“Please,” Dan begs, and Phil instantly sucks in a breath. “Please, I want you so much. You’ve no idea, Phil. It’s all I fucking think about.”

His mouth is running away with itself again, Dan thinks, clamping it shut a moment too late. He hadn’t quite intended for Phil to know that part - how Dan lies awake in bed most nights, playing the more inappropriate of his Phil-fantasies on loop in the hours when no one will see him, when he can’t be judged.

Dan’s never been one for sexual daydreams, but it’s a whole different thing with Phil. He’s never found someone this attractive in his life. So he might not be all that experienced in sex with men, but Dan can sure conjure up some realistic-seeming ideas about what it might feel like… helped some with his own stimulation now and again.

“It is?” Phil asks, his voice husky.

He runs a hand up Dan’s thigh again. Dan has already come once tonight, but he can feel how hard he’s getting again, just from watching Phil strip off in front of him, from hearing the words drop off his tongue, from having him here, at all, in this bed, touching and kissing and everything else.

God, how will he survive it if Phil agrees? How will he manage to cope with the sensation of Phil inside of him, on top of him, pushing them both together-

Dan nods again, eyes slipping shut against the embarrassment of this confession. When he opens his eyes again, Phil is biting his lip. He stares at Dan for a moment, then says, “do you have any lube?”

The breath escapes from Dan’s lungs in a rush, and he moves fast, muttering a garbled affirmation before twisting onto his front and leaning over towards his bedside drawer. He pulls it open, hand blindly rummaging around inside.

His heart races as he struggles to comprehend what’s about to happen, not helped by the unexpected sensation of Phil’s hand sliding up the back of his thigh, squeezing his bare buttocks. Dan yelps without meaning to, feeling himself blush, absurdly. He seizes hold of the bottle at last, along with a spare condom, and pulls them out, not bothering to shut the drawer. He flips over and hands the items to Phil, who is smirking again - presumably at Dan’s eagerness. 

“Okay,” Phil says in a breath, twirling the objects in his fingers.

He places the condom and bottle to one side for a moment, kneeling upright in order to push his jeans down his legs. Dan watches silently, praying for the ability to stay conscious in the onslaught of the indescribably hot sight before him.

“Will you take your shirt off for me, Dan?” Phil asks, far too sweetly for his actions. He stands from the bed in order to pull his jeans all the way off. “And move somewhere comfy.”

“Y-yeah,” Dan manages, starkly aware of the deep, burning flush spreading from his cheeks to his chest as he complies.

His shirt is flung somewhere into the darkness, but Dan doesn’t care. He throws the covers off the bed too, then moves up to lie on the pillows, wanting so badly to please Phil, to do as he wants.  

Phil crawls back on the bed, now in just his underwear. Dan has never seen a sight more beautiful than Phil’s bare thighs, he’s sure - or at least he thinks that until the sight of Phil squeezing lube onto his fingers unfolds before his eyes.

“I want you to tell me if I’m hurting you,” Phil says seriously, his voice oddly gentle. It’s such a stark contrast to the way he looks right now, naked and imposing, leant over Dan with his fingers covered in gel. “You’re too precious for that.”

“I will,” Dan agrees, the words slipping under his skin, making him twitch. “Please-”

Phil trails the slippery fingers of his right hand across Dan’s thigh, trickling them through the patch of hair at his groin and then lower, pushing between the crease of Dan’s buttocks. Dan lifts his thighs instinctually, wanting to make it easier.

Phil leans over him as he presses the pad of his index finger to Dan’s entrance, making him gasp. He tenses at once, and Phil shushes him, bringing his lips to Dan’s for a soft, soothing kiss.

“Relax,” he whispers against Dan’s mouth. His finger strokes softly, making Dan squirm. “Have you ever put anything up here before, Dan?”

Dan’s cheeks burn.

“Um,” he stutters, “j-just, um, my fingers…”

Phil makes a muffled noise against his lips, eyes falling shut. “Oh, Christ. I bet that’s a picture.”

Phil’s finger presses a little more insistently, and Dan gasps. “Oh…”

“Just relax,  _chaton_ ,” Phil whispers, and Dan does, almost as if his body is yearning to obey any instruction Phil gives him. His muscles relieve themselves of tension and he lets out a little ‘oh’ as Phil slides his finger inside. “You’re so good, Dan. So good. How does it feel?”

“Unngh,” Dan chokes out, unable to pluck coherent words out of his soupy brain. “It feels… you feel so… amazing.”

Dan’s hands slide across Phil’s shoulders, clinging to him, the muscles beneath his soft, pale skin shifting as he works his finger deeper inside. Phil is gentle and careful. It’s so obvious that he doesn’t want to rush this, doesn’t want Dan to feel anything but the pleasure, and it’s mindblowing. Phil presses kisses along his throat, trails fingers over his hips, trying to keep him calm, relaxed, happy.

Tears spring into Dan’s eyes at the multiple avenues of stimulation. It seems that Phil is everywhere at once, inside him, above him, around him. This could be Heaven, he thinks, trying to focus on the grey, flat ceiling of his familiar room, if only to remind himself that this is real.

At that moment, Phil adds a second finger, slipping it in with such ease that Dan marvels at it a little, able to only let out a choked out moan. Phil kisses him soundly, swallowing the noises, and starts scissoring his fingers, opening Dan up bit by bit.

“ _J'ai hâte d'être en toi Dan_ ,” Phil tells him, making Dan shudder. The rough, grated scratch of Phil’s voice is a good indication of just how sordid his words are. “ _Tu as l'air si parfait. Je suis sûr que tu sera tellement bon_.”

“Fuck, I really need to learn French,” Dan groans, scraping his fingers down Phil’s back.

Phil laughs, three fingers buried into him now. Dan is finding it much harder to breathe all of a sudden. His legs are spread wide, and he’s pushing his hips down onto Phil’s fingers, wanting to feel him deeper still; it feels so good, but it’s not enough, he needs more.

Then, Dan feels a lance of pure, raw pleasure sluice through him, as if it sparked from the very tips of Phil’s fingers. He tenses, letting out a moan as he digs his nails into Phil’s shoulders.

“Oh my God,” he gasps, “that… do that again, Phil, fuck-”

Watching his face closely, Phil presses his fingers against a place deep inside of Dan, and another jolt of visceral, electric bliss floods Dan’s body from head to toe.

“Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck-” Dan garbles, feeling his hardness begin to throb with neglect, the intensity seizing him in a vice hold. “Unngh, Phil please…”

“Do you think you’re ready, Dan?” Phil asks, sounding very strained all of a sudden.

Dan resists the urge to groan in frustration, and instead just nods, his “yes” coming out a little louder than he intends it to.

As soon as he hears the confirmation, Phil is drawing his fingers out with care. Dan doesn’t get a moment to prepare before he’s watching Phil push his own underwear down his thighs, until he’s entirely naked, his erection long and thick with arousal, so flushed that Dan feels a tremor run over him. 

Phil reaches for the condom, tearing the packet open with his teeth. As he moves to put it on, Dan stops him. 

“Wait,” he says, sitting up to place a hand over Phil’s. “Can I...?”

Phil nods, looking a little dazed by this request. So Dan rolls the condom carefully over him, struggling to deal with how it feels, doing something so intimate; Phil shivers, and Dan flops backwards, his chest flushed already. 

“I’ll take it slow, okay,” Phil assures him, positioning himself between Dan’s legs. “Just relax, tell me how it feels.”

“It feels like I’m in a dream,” Dan admits, not understanding. Phil pauses, then laughs. “Oh,” Dan says, still breathless. “You meant… right.”

Phil sighs then, wistful, and pushes himself into Dan a short way. “ _Oh, Dan, cheri, j'espère vraiment que ce n'est pas un rêve_.”

The air punches out of Dan’s chest, and he arches off the bed, breaths ragged. Phil’s hand smooths down his chest and stomach as he eases himself carefully further inside. This is beyond anything Dan has ever imagined it could be. Fingers do not compare to the feel of Phil pressing into him, filling a space Dan didn’t even know was empty. He feels his internal muscles quivering, squeezing around Phil, dragging him deeper. He chokes out a noise of pure ecstasy, grabbing hold of Phil’s arms.

Phil is agonisingly slow as he fills Dan up. His sharp blue eyes track Dan’s face for signs of distress; Dan has no idea what Phil is seeing there, as he’s long since lost control of his facial muscles, so he just lets out tiny, quiet moans of appreciation, hoping this will be enough to convince him he’s enjoying this.

A moment passes, and Dan belatedly realises Phil is all the way inside of him, right up to the hilt. He can feel the bristle of Phil’s pubic hair against his skin. Phil leans down to kiss him, muttering words Dan can’t understand.

“ _Cheri, chaton, ange…_ ”

“Fuck, what’re you saying?”

“I’m saying…” Phil whispers, evidently finding it difficult to speak. “You’re beautiful. And you feel so, so fucking good.”

Dan claps a hand over his mouth to stifle the noise he makes at this information. Phil moves his hips slightly, and Dan clings to him, moaning behind his hand. Phil takes hold of it then, moving it from Dan’s mouth in confusion.

“Why’re you trying to be quiet?”

Dan blinks, bewildered. He doesn’t really know why, now that he thinks about it. “Just- the others are upstairs… they could hear…”

Phil smiles, one eyebrow lifting. “Why do I get the sense that they wouldn’t be nearly as considerate for you?”

And well, put like that, Dan can’t argue. The amount of times he’s heard the loud, obnoxious noises of his flatmates through the ceiling in the dead of night? Immeasurable.

“You’re right, make me scream,” Dan laughs.

“ _Avec plaisir,_ ” Phil says. Well, Dan can guess what that one meant.

Phil is incredible at this, Dan quickly realises. He starts slow, his movements calm and cautious, testing Dan’s limits. Dan just whimpers, hands slipping over Phil’s back in what he hopes is encouragement, his bitten nails dragging across the skin.

Once he’s sure Dan can take it, Phil slides in deeper, knowing just how to lift Dan’s hips with his hands in order to push himself all the way inside. As he feels Phil nudge against his prostate, Dan cries out, not really meaning to. From the way Phil’s eyes glaze however, he doesn’t regret it.

Having found the place to aim for, Phil goes for it, snapping his hips with precision, his long fingers raking down Dan’s waist. It’s almost unbearable, feeling so on the edge, having Phil massage against that one place deep inside him for so long, with such intensity.

Dan moans and curses, letting Phil’s name roll of his tongue, lest it burn in his throat and choke him. Phil’s tongue sweeps up his throat, making everything that much more euphoric, winding the coil of arousal deep in his gut until its a tight knot, ready to snap any moment.

“Phil, I’m gonna… fuck, I need…”

Without a word, Phil’s hand reaches between them, finally giving Dan’s neglected erection some much-needed attention. In three quick, practiced strokes of his fist, Dan is coming, tumbling over whatever precipice he’s been suspended over as Phil fucks into him again and again.

He can feel a scream leave his mouth, somewhat embarrassingly, but he can’t care about it when Phil is still inside of him, still biting and moving and  _everywhere_.

Spent and utterly exhausted, Dan is able only to whimper as Phil continues to thrust into him, hands sweeping over the broad expanse of his back and shoulders until finally, he feels Phil shudder, moaning into the crook of Dan’s neck as he lets himself go. His hips jerk once, twice, burying himself deep inside as he comes.

“ _Mon coeur, mon coeur, mon coeur,_ ” Phil chants, peppering kisses over Dan’s collarbones.

After a while, Phil pulls out of him, falling to one side of Dan, staring up at the ceiling above. He finds Dan’s hand in the sheets, eyes closed, both of them panting heavily.

“Wait here,” Dan whispers, sitting up shakily.

He pulls his hand free of Phil’s, managing to get to his feet somehow. As he heads out of his room to the bathroom, he vaguely notes that he’s completely naked. Oh well, he thinks, Teddy and Tyler can just deal with it if he meets them in the hall. God knows he’s accidentally run into Tyler naked enough times. That guy loves to ‘air dry’.

When Dan returns to his dark room, a warm flannel and some towels in his hand, Phil has disposed of the condom, pulled the covers back onto the bed, and gotten beneath them. He looks worried as he sees Dan come through the door.

“Everything okay?”

Dan smiles tiredly, still feeling a little wrung out. He climbs back onto the bed, slipping under the covers with him. “I don’t think I’ve ever been more okay.”

Phil smiles back, clearly relieved. “Where did you go?”

“To get some… cleaning supplies,” Dan explains, giggling awkwardly. Phil laughs too, thank goodness, and accepts the warm flannel Dan hands to him. They clean up what they can, dry off with the towels, and Dan throws them aside. He lays down, feeling the crushing exhaustion of their strenuous activities hit him like a truck. “You’re… extremely attractive. Did you know?”

Laid down facing him now, Phil laughs, slipping an arm around Dan’s waist. “I could say the same to you.”

“I don’t want to fall asleep,” Dan complains, shuffling towards him. He tries to keep his eyes wide open, wanting to instil the sight of Phil this way into his brain.

“Why not?”

“In the morning… things won’t be as magical,” Dan says, not knowing how to explain. “In the middle of the night everything seems kind of suspended. Time... responsibility… it’s all gone for a bit.”

“You make everything magical, all the time,” Phil tells him with a kiss. “Personally I can’t wait to wake up with you.”

Dan’s heart seizes up, and he swallows a ridiculous urge to cry. Phil smiles, one hand stroking through Dan’s curls. He can see Phil’s eyes starting to close, and Dan knows he only has seconds before he loses the older man to unconsciousness. He grapples for something to say, something that could sum up the magnitude of his unequivocal ecstasy, his total feeling of devotion for this man, sweet and perfect, beside him.

“Phil,” Dan whispers, their noses brushing.

“Mm?”

Dan chews his lip. “This was the best night of my life.”

Phil’s eyes open, slightly wider than normal. He’s silent for a moment, and Dan wonders if that was perhaps too big of a thing to say. Perhaps he should have just complimented Phil on his sexual prowess and rolled over to mull over his sappy thoughts in the dark. It certainly would have been the more sensible option.

Then, Phil smiles, big and happy, stretching his mouth wide. He leans in, kissing Dan softly, and says, “me too.”

How does he always know, Dan wonders as he watches Phil’s eyes close. How could he possibly know, every time, exactly what Dan needs to hear?

*

The smell of something delicious rouses Dan from a deep, thick slumber. It’s the kind of sleep that seems to cling to him as he attempts to crawl out of it, dragging on his heavy limbs, trying to coax him back into the dark.

His eyes are sticky and resistant as he peels them open, and it takes him a minute or so to remember his surroundings, let alone anything that happened the night before. It all seems to come back to him in a sudden, unexpected tidal wave, crashing over him as if he were lying on the shore of some sandy beach instead of buried in the depths of his messy bed.

As the memories whoosh through his bleary mind, his eyes widen, and his heart begins to race. He lifts his head warily, fully expecting to see Phil beside him, perhaps fast asleep too, exhausted from all that happened just hours ago. Instead, he’s met with the sight of his empty bed, the covers and sheets half pulled off, the pillows dented with the telltale imprint of someone else.

Dan sits up with a struggle, noting that his body feels a little fragile still, as if Phil had flayed the very skin from his aching bones with each press of his lips.

After a quick assessment of his surroundings, Dan concludes that he is, in fact, completely alone in this room. His heart picks up the speed. Has Phil freaked out and left already? Did the events of last night cause him so much regret and guilt that he simply scarpered before Dan woke up?

That seems very unlikely, considering the type of person Dan feels he knows Phil Lester to be, but then again, they did do something rather… forbidden.

Another waft of that delicious smell sweeps past Dan’s nose, making his stomach rumble. The last thing he ate was that cookie yesterday evening. He’s starving.

Not able to think about much else until the jabbing pain in his stomach has subsided, Dan decides to get up and figure out what to do. Perhaps Phil is just in the bathroom, after all. He flings the covers aside and stands up, ver,y aware of his own nudity and half wanting to shield his body from the harsh light of the morning before Phil sees.

Seeing somebody naked in the dark is far different to seeing them in the light.

Annoyingly, he can’t locate the shirt he was wearing last night - he dreads to think where that might have ended up - but he does manage to find that pretty black jumper Phil was wearing, along with the boxers he had on over by the door before…

An immediate blush whips across his cheekbones as the memory of Phil sinking to his knees folds back into his brain. He swallows thickly, wrapping the sleeves of the jumper over his hands as he wanders back out into the hall.

As he approaches the kitchen, he can hear someone humming. It sounds like the  _Jurassic Park_  theme tune. Teddy and Tyler’s only concept of the  _Jurassic Park_  movies is that the new one stars a shirtless Chris Pratt. They wouldn’t know the theme tune if it hit them in the face.

He enters the kitchen, half knowing what he’s about to find, but being no less prepared to see it in front of him. Sure enough, Phil is standing in the kitchen in front of the hob, his shirtless back towards Dan, humming as he tends to something in a frying pan.

All Dan can do is watch for a moment, barely believing such a pure, heavenly sight could exist right before him. How is this his life?

Softly, he pads over, crossing the kitchen floor until he’s stood at Phil’s side. He’s making pancakes. Of course he is. Because he’s perfect.

“Oh, hey,” Phil says brightly.

He abandons the spatula in his hand, smiling as he turns to wrap Dan in his arms. He smells like pancake batter. Dan buries himself into the warmth of Phil’s shoulder, pressing a kiss there.

Phil giggles, then pushes his mouth against the top of Dan’s head. “How did you sleep?”

Dan shrugs, not particularly wanting to move from Phil’s embrace, not that Phil seems to want to let him. “Good, I think. You were there.”

“I was,” Phil agrees, smiling. He presses another kiss, this time to Dan’s forehead. “You looked very sweet when I got up earlier. I didn’t want to wake you up.”

Dan pulls away, mostly because Phil has begun attempting to flip a pancake one handed, while still hugging him. He leans against the counter, content just to watch.

“I can’t believe you’re making pancakes,” Dan says, shaking his head in wonder. “How could you be any more amazing?”

“It wasn’t as easy as you’d think,” Phil confesses. “You don’t have a lot of basic ingredients. I had to do some… improvisation.”

Dan laughs. “Yeah, Teddy and Tyler are the only ones who can ever be bothered to go proper food shopping. I tend to steal a lot of their fancy ingredients.”

“I used chickpea flour - sidenote, didn’t know that was a thing - and soya milk,” Phil tells him, prodding at the pancake suspiciously. “Oh, and you didn’t have eggs, so I used banana.”

“They smell incredible,” Dan says reassuringly.

It makes Phil beam at him, so it’s worth it, even if the pancakes taste gross. Phil studies him for a moment, then laughs.

“You’re wearing my jumper,” he says.

Dan blushes, looking down at it. “Oh, yeah, um… sorry, I just couldn’t find my shirt and-”

“It looks good on you,” Phil says, eyeing it appreciatively. “Everything looks good on you, though.”

Dan blushes harder, twisting the sleeves between his fingers. “Thanks. I think everything looks good  _off_ you, so…”

That makes Phil laugh so much he almost drops the pancake on the floor, but he reaches over and pulls Dan towards him for a kiss, so it’s all fine. Dan makes them both coffee, then, and they talk about random things as Dan gets some plates and cutlery out of the cupboards. They discuss those insanely cool videos of people making pancakes into people’s faces, the latest episode of  _Riverdale_  (shocker, Phil watches trashy Netflix shows too), the pros and cons of various summer berries (Phil prefers blueberries, Dan’s a ride-or-die raspberry addict), and some cute dogs they’ve seen recently. It’s as Dan is listening to Phil talk about this ‘magnificent’ corgi he’d been accosted by on the way to the shop the other day, that Dan thinks of something.

“Hey, what’s happening with Buffy?” He asks, alarmed. “Is she on her own?”

Phil glances up at him. “Martyn took her for a sleepover. She’s fine.”

“But you didn’t know you were staying,” Dan says, confused. “How did you-”

“I told Martyn to keep her for the night anyway,” Phil says, sipping his coffee. “I didn’t know how late I’d be coming home, so I just thought it was easier if he had her.”

Dan quirks an eyebrow, sipping his own coffee. “Hmm.”

Phil chuckles at him, eyes glinting with mischief. “What?”

“Just sounds awfully convenient, is all.”

“Shut up.”

“Did I fall for your master plan, Phil?” Dan asks, sidling closer to him. “Mister ‘oh, I can only have one measly little drink because I have to drive all the way home again, poor me. If only I had somewhere to stay’. I see through you. It was all a ruse, a trickery to lure me into bed-”

Phil silences him with a laughing kiss, giggling against his mouth. Dan responds eagerly, wrapping his arms around Phil’s neck. Unfortunately, it’s at this moment that the rest of the household decide to face the day. It seems that Dan is barely able to register the telltale sound of feet thumping down the stairs above their heads before Tyler and Teddy are swanning into the kitchen, swathed their complementary, silken ‘His & Hers’ pyjamas.

“My, my,  _my_!” Tyler exclaims as Dan springs back from Phil. “What’s going on in here, then?”

Teddy walks over to the stove to peer at the latest pancake sizzling in the pan. “Oh my God, Ty, the Frenchie made breakfast.”

“Not just breakfast,  _semi-naked_  breakfast,” Tyler adds, feigning a swoon. “Did you lose your shirt, Phil?”

“Probably went missing in the folds of the couch you slept on all night long,” Teddy says, pouring out two more cups of coffee with a wry smile. “Right?”

Phil says nothing, but begins sliding some of the pancakes he’s made onto plates, a smirk on his lips.

“Guys, can you, like, maybe not embarrass me for literally one minute,” Dan mutters as Phil hands him a pancake laden plate.

“No can do, darling,” Tyler says, stealing Dan’s plate from him at once.

Dan sighs, and Phil hands him a second plate, rolling his eyes secretly. “Don’t listen to them.”

“How did you guys sleep, anyway?” Teddy asks, sipping coffee and grinning. “Was the sofa comfortable, Phil?”

Phil stares him down with a defiant smile, lifting a forkful of pancake into his mouth. “Very, thanks.”

“Well, I doubt you got a better night’s sleep than Dan,” Tyler says, drizzling some syrup onto his plate. “We could hear how much he was enjoying his own bed from all the way upstairs-”

“Okay, fuck off, Tyler,” Dan says, jabbing him lightly in the arm with a syrupy fork. “I can smell the things you and Teddy got up to last night radiating out of your pores.”

“Ouch,” Teddy says, chuckling.

“Daniel, manners! I’m shook,” Tyler says, but he’s laughing too. He places a hand on Dan’s forehead, even as Dan backs away. “Has the sight of Phil’s bare, chiselled form got you all a-fluster?”

Dan opens his mouth to yell at Tyler, but Phil interrupts him, thankfully.

“On that note, I think I’m gonna go dress myself,” he says, smirking as he places his empty plate and mug in the sink. “Fun as it is to be objectified first thing in the morning.”

Dan glances at him forlornly, knowing that Phil dressing is the first step towards him leaving.

“Oh,” he says, nodding as convincingly as he can. “Okay, sure.”

“Take your last looks at that manly smattering of chest hair now, boys,” Teddy tells the general room, nicking a piece of pancake from Tyler’s plate.

Phil dithers by the fridge, looking over at Dan with one eyebrow raised, expectant.

“Um, Dan?” Phil asks, fidgeting. Dan just stares, perplexed. “I… need my jumper back.”

Dan’s eyes fall closed, and he hears the sniggering from behind him almost at once. “Oh. Yep, right.”

Instead of facing the humiliation of stripping off right here in the kitchen, Dan decides to just take Phil by the hand, wiping any doubt (as if there ever was any) from Teddy and Tyler’s minds about what happened last night, as he leads Phil out of the kitchen, back towards his bedroom.

*

“Sorry I had to ask,” Phil says as soon as Dan’s bedroom door closes. He looks genuinely guilty, and Dan wants to kiss the look off his face. “Normally I would let you just keep it on, but I don’t have any other clothes with me, and-”

Dan silences him with a kiss, wrapping his arms around Phil’s neck. “It’s fine. You can have it back.”

Tentatively, Phil’s fingers slip beneath the hem of the jumper, skimming over Dan’s bare back as he tugs on it, carefully. Dan lifts his arms as Phil pulls it free, and then it’s off entirely, and Dan’s just in his underwear, again. Phil has his jeans on, but they’re unbuttoned, rather tantalisingly.

Phil stands in front of him, holding the jumper in his hands, eyes stuck to Dan’s bare chest.

“Have I told you that you’re beautiful?” Phil asks in a quiet voice.

The squeak of surprise gets caught in Dan’s throat as Phil kisses him again, dropping the jumper to the floor, forgotten. Caught off-guard, Dan allows himself to be kissed, pressing his exposed chest against Phil’s, relishing the delicious feeling of skin on skin.

Before it gets too heated however, Phil pulls away. He keeps his arms lightly wrapped around Dan’s waist and says, “we should shower, probably.”

Dan’s eyes widen. “Oh, um… yeah, sure. You can… there’s towels in the bathroom you can use- I mean, the pink ones are Tyler and Teddy’s, but the others are mine-”

“Aren’t you coming in with me?” Phil asks, smirking.

Dan sucks in a breath, cheeks heating. “Oh, um… actually I think I’ll… shower later, maybe. I’ve just got to- so, yeah. Later. But you go ahead.”

Phil looks a little confused by this - understandably - but doesn’t press the issue, and nods, releasing Dan to swoop up the jumper at his feet. He gives Dan a little smile, and heads out of the room.

“What the fuck is wrong with me?” Dan wonders aloud as soon as the door closes.

*

“Wait, he asked you to shower with him and you said no?” Teddy clarifies. Dan is laying on the sofa, his head in Tyler’s lap, cringing at himself.

“Hey, if he wants a shower companion and you’re not up for it…” Tyler jumps in, making Teddy swat him in the leg.

“I am up for it, obviously, I’m very up for it!” Dan protests, berating his stupid brain. “I just got… overwhelmed or something. This has been a very dramatic twenty-four hours.”

“And he’s still in there right now?” Teddy asks.

Dan nods, morose. “All naked and wet.”

“So… go hop in.”

Dan blinks at him, mouth parted. “I can’t do that! What if he thinks it’s a Psycho murderer?”

“I think he’d probably realise that’s it’s less likely to be Norman Bates’ murderous mother, than the boy he invited into the shower with him.”

Dan thinks about this, deliberating. “But I already said no.”

“So, go tell him you changed your mind!” Tyler exclaims, shoving him off the sofa. Dan yelps, landing on the floor in a heap, annoyed.

“Ow!”

“You’ll thank me after some steamy shower sex, now go!”

Grumbling, Dan gets to his feet, trying to mentally prepare himself for what’s about to happen.

Oh, God.

*

It takes about five minutes of dithering before Dan gets up the nerve to actually open the door to the bathroom, so by the time he actually does it, Phil is already out of the shower. He curses his incompetence at this seduction malarkey, and grins sheepishly at Phil, who is wrapping a towel around his waist, surprised.

“Hey,” Phil says, obviously confused. “I thought you said…”

“Yeah, I’m an idiot,” Dan explains, laughing. “Sorry. I got all flustered. You’re very attractive, and you were shirtless and kissing me… I will never forgive myself for passing up the opportunity to shower with you.”

Phil laughs, wandering over to kiss him. His skin is damp and hot, and he smells like Teddy’s lavender shower gel.

“Don’t worry,” Phil murmurs into his ear. “Next time we can have a shower that’s twice as long, is all.”

Luckily, Phil is ducking out of the room before he can witness Dan’s meltdown.

“I am such a fucking mess,” Dan says to no one, and goes to switch on the shower.

*

As Phil is making Dan’s bed (something Dan expressly told him not to bother with), he mentions that he’s probably going to go home and do some baking.

“Baking?” Dan asks, perking up at once.

He’s straightening his hair as quickly as he can, not wanting Phil to see him for too long with curls.

Phil smiles at him, nodding. “I thought it’d be a nice treat for the Year Nine’s. I was going to make madeleines. Because of Paris, and all.”

“Right, yeah.” Dan says, wistful as he thinks about the image of Phil all floury and happy, dancing around his pretty kitchen as he whips up delicious treats. “That’s a nice idea.”

“Do you want to come over and help me?”

Dan burns his finger on the tip of the straightener. “Ow! Shit. Sorry, I mean - really?”

“Yeah,” Phil says, smiling at him. He wanders over and takes the straighteners out of Dan’s hands before he can injure himself. “Your hair looks so lovely when it’s natural. Quit hurting yourself. I like the curls, and it’s just me today, after all.”

Dan stares up at him. His heart is so swollen that he feels it’s about to burst. “I would really, really love to come and bake madeleines with you, Phil.”

Phil beams at him, then leans in to kiss him. “Good. We need to leave soonish, though. I told Martyn I’d be back for Buffy before twelve.”

“Okay,” Dan says, incredibly happy.

They can put off all the stuff they don’t want to think about for one more day, he decides.

*

Phil is a messy baker. Dan can’t tell if it’s a good thing or not, on the whole. On one hand, it means that Dan doesn’t have to worry about getting batter on the floor, but on the other, it means that he pretty much has to say goodbye to this particular pair of jeans.

“I am covered in egg white,” Dan complains, peering down at his legs. “How did you even manage that?”

“Hey, I offered you an apron,” Phil tells him, making Dan roll his eyes.

“The one with the guy in speedos on the front? Yeah, thanks for that, I’ll pass.”

Phil laughs at him, then shoves one of the many bowls of cake batter into his hands. “Mix this.”

“Wow, you’re bossy when you’re baking,” Dan notes, nodding. “It’s kinda hot.”

Phil shoots him a wink, “I could cover you in cake batter and lick it off later, if you like.”

Dan splutters, reddening. “I think you’re already implementing the first step of that plan.”

He shows Phil his batter-y arms and jeans again, so Phil just laughs and wipes a smear of goo onto his nose with the end of his wooden spoon.

“Hey! Oh, that’s it-”

The food war that commences ends with them both covered in the stuff. By the time they’ve called a truce, it’s in Dan’s eyebrows, his hair, all over his neck and t-shirt, amongst other places. He cowers on the floor, surrendering to Phil’s remarkably superior cake-related battle skills.

Phil, somehow, remains far less covered in the stuff. Still, Phil kisses him, sinking to the floor in front of Dan, apparently not caring about getting himself messy. He lifts Dan’s sodden t-shirt over his head and throws it aside, muttering something about ‘washing’ it for him later.

They kiss for a while, giggling as Phil licks the worst of it off Dan’s neck, making him squirm.

*

It’s very warm in Phil’s kitchen, but Phil gives Dan a jumper anyway; apparently his concern about Dan’s chances of getting cold outweigh his ‘deep, deep appreciation’ of his shirtless form.

It’s his Sunnydale High jumper, a deep maroon one that Dan has seen him in before, so he wraps the sleeves around himself, snug and happy as he watches Phil place the first of the madeleine trays in the oven. They’ve made rather a lot, because the Year Nines are a growing bunch, and besides - they’re planning on having a few themselves as well.

It’s only as Dan catches himself staring fixatedly at Phil’s behind that he recognises the itch beneath his skin for what it is. Phil sets the timer, and Dan immediately pounces, pushing him against the kitchen counter and kissing him hard.

Phil makes a noise of surprise, but kisses back readily, winding his arms around Dan’s waist.

“I wanna… try something,” Dan says against Phil’s lips.

Everything that’s happened in the last twenty-four hours is starting to catch up to him. The elation of having Phil here, kissable and touchable is beginning to sink in, and Dan feels like he could walk on water. He wants to do everything, and he wants to do it with Phil, right now, particularly if… 

He brushes that thought aside before it forms.

“Hmm, should I be scared?” Phil mumbles, giggling through his kisses.

Dan’s thumbs slip along the waistband of Phil’s jeans, finding his belt buckle and tugging at it, trying to wrestle it open.

“Oh, that kind of something,” Phil purrs, his hands slipping over Dan’s bum.

Taking this as a sign of consent, Dan takes a deep breath and falls carefully to his knees. He hears Phil’s surprised intake of breath, but doesn’t let it deter him. He manages, somehow, to get Phil’s fly open, and glances up at Phil once more, checking this is all completely okay.

“Dan, you don’t have to… have you ever done this before?”

Dan shakes his head, hoping the dusting of pink across his cheeks won’t kill the mood. “Teach me?” Then, because the adrenaline is pulsing through him, making him alert and excited, Dan smirks, and adds: “ _Mr Lester_.”

Phil chokes out a strangled noise, suddenly looking rather flustered. He bites his lip, nodding at Dan, as if to say ‘go ahead’. So, Dan reaches into Phil’s jeans, a little taken aback to find how aroused Phil already is, just from this.

He pulls Phil’s length out of its material trappings, eyes wide as he takes in the girth of it. In the light of day, it’s rather intimidating in size. Remembering that Dan had all of it inside him just last night makes him shudder, his own hardness beginning to throb, demanding attention.

Not wanting to leave Phil hanging, Dan leans in straight away, running his tongue from the very base, all the way to the head. Phil sighs with pleasure, hands gripping the lip of the counter as he stares down. Dan swirls his tongue around the very tip, wanting to know how Phil tastes, to gather up the moisture collected there and let it slide over his tongue, so he can commit it to memory.

Phil really seems to like this, judging by the way he twitches forwards, along with the tiny little gasps falling from his mouth.

Dan leans backwards, staring up at him. “Am I doing okay?”

Something about the question seems to make Phil groan, but he nods anyway. “You’re… perfect, yeah.”

Dan smiles, a little shyly, and leans back in, repeating his actions. A broad lick up the length, then a swirl of his tongue around the head. Then, he does it a third time. By this point, Dan can hear the quickening of Phil’s breath, so he decides to move things along a little.

Fitting all of Phil inside of his mouth is going to be tricky, Dan can already tell. Dan’s always had a big mouth, but this could still be a stretch, in the most literal sense. Nevertheless, Dan is nothing if not a try-er, so he slips his mouth over the tip, moving his head forwards, trying to take in as much as he can.

He clasps a hand around the base, and slides his mouth down until his lips meet the circle of his thumb and forefinger. At this point he sucks, collecting the fluids at the back of his throat, and swallows hard.

Phil moans then, one hand pushing itself into Dan’s messy curls. “Fuck, Dan… how are you so good at this?”

Dan is about to respond that he has no idea, but he realises that, before he can, he needs to pull off. As he slides backwards however, Phil moans again, so Dan takes the initiative, and starts bobbing his head backwards and forwards, letting his tongue graze the underside as he goes.

Phil’s fingers wind themselves tighter into his hair. Dan can feel him begin to tremble, and it’s incredibly hot - knowing that he’s getting Phil this worked up is the ultimate turn on. He speeds up his movements, allowing the hand he has clasped around Phil to begin jerking him too, hopefully adding some pleasure.

Something about this feels natural, Dan thinks, as he slips into a rhythm. His only desire right now is to make Phil feel fucking amazing, and this seems to be doing just that. Like he’s settling into some past-life muscle memory, Dan twists his wrist just slightly as he strokes, and slackens his mouth.

Phil’s hips twitch beneath his other hand, as if he’s holding back, trying not to push into the sensation. Honestly, Dan kind of wishes he’d allow himself to do just that - though it would probably choke him, he imagines. Perhaps that wouldn’t be very sexy.

“Dan, oh,  _merde,_  I’m about to… fuck…pull off, Dan, oh-”

Dan is not going to pull off. He can’t really think of anything better than having Phil come in his mouth, so he keeps up the pace, and then, like he’s wished for it, Phil is crying out his name, slipping over into his high. A warm saltiness floods Dan’s mouth, spilling over his tongue. He swallows it down, eyes fluttering at the hotness of it all, sucking hard so he captures every last drop.

When he pulls off, finally, he licks his lips, and gazes up at Phil in awe. “That was so fucking hot, oh my God.”

Phil, breathless and flushed, stares down at him in wonderment. “You’re telling me.”

Dan gets to his feet, kissing Phil hungrily. He feels like he’s on vibrate, alive with the experience, still able to taste Phil everywhere. “I wanna do that again.”

Phil laughs against his mouth. “I think it’s your turn.”

Dan hums, biting eagerly at Phil’s lower lip. Suddenly, a beeping interrupts them, and they break apart in surprise. Phil sighs, looking over towards the oven. “The madeleines are done.”

“Ah,” Dan says, nodding.

As Phil steps away from him, apologetic as he reaches for the oven gloves, another, louder noise sounds. A doorbell.

“Ah,  _merde_ ,” Phil says, throwing Dan a glance. “That’s my brother with Buffy.”

Dan stares back at him in alarm. “Fuck,” he says, eloquently.

“Let’s just be thankful he didn’t arrive like… two minutes ago,” Phil says, laughing as he pulls out a tray of perfectly golden madeleines.

He slides the next tray into the oven and stands, throwing the gloves aside. He zips up his fly, chuckling, and brushes himself down, doing the same to Dan. The doorbell rings again, a little more insistently this time.

Phil turns Dan in his arms, looking him in the eye. As if he can sense the inner panic welling up inside of Dan’s chest, he leans in, eyes soft and gentle. “Don’t worry, okay? He’s super nice, and you’re amazing. He won’t stick around for long, I promise. Then we can get back to…” Phil pauses, glancing downwards, unsubtly. “You know.”

He presses a final kiss to Dan’s lips, and smiles. Dan smiles back, feeling oddly calmer, though he wishes he could be wearing something slightly less obviously  _Phil’s_  the first time he meets a member of his family.

“Stay here, I’ll bring him in for a quick hello,” Phil says, then moves away, heading for the front door.

Dan just dithers in the middle of the room, unsure of what to do with his hands, suddenly. He can hear the distant sound of the door opening, and then two, bright, similar voices filtering through.

“Crap,” Dan mutters to himself, bringing his thumb to his mouth to bite.

Just then, a skittering sound begins hurtling towards him, and all of a sudden a ball of fluff is propelling itself into Dan’s legs, almost pushing him off balance. He yelps, not knowing what it is, and then realises, belatedly, that it’s Buffy, scrabbling at his feet, panting happily.

She gazes up at him, delighted, and immediately starts licking the batter off his jeans.

“Aw, hello, girl,” Dan says, chuckling as he sinks to the ground. He strokes her happily, welcoming her frantic licks as she discovers more globs of batter over his hands and face. “I missed you. Did you miss me?”

“Something smells amazing through here, but I think Buffy might’ve discovered that already- oh! Hello.”

Dan looks up as a tall, dark blonde man in a spotty shirt strolls into the kitchen. There’s a look of surprise on his face as he takes in the sight of Dan, understandably. Luckily, as Dan seems to have forgotten how to speak, Phil walks through the doorway straight after him.

“Martyn, this is Dan,” Phil says. “He’s my-”

“You’ve told me about Dan, Phil,” Martyn interrupts with an eye roll. 

Dan wonders what Phil had been about to finish that sentence with. Workmate? Friend? Baking-blowjob-buddy?

Martyn strolls forwards as Dan gets to his feet, much to Buffy’s annoyance, so it would seem. The older Lester sticks his hand out for Dan to shake, which he does, but with his right hand - he’s painfully aware of what happened minutes prior to Martyn’s entrance.

“Hi,” Dan says, feeling like the sordid activities he and Phil have been involved in recently are written across his forehead. “I’ve heard about you as well.”

“Terrible things, I assume,” Martyn grins, making Dan chuckle.

“Yeah, well, you know Phil… constantly trash-talking everyone,” Dan jokes; Martyn laughs heartily.

“Oh, of course,” Martyn agrees. “Phil’s such a judgmental, bitchy type of guy.” Martyn turns to face Phil, grinning. “You really need to tone that down, Philip.”

Phil rolls his eyes. “Shove off.”

“So, you’re having a baking day?” Martyn asks, unsubtly eyeing the treats. There’s something else in his eye too, an air of suspicion or curiosity, especially prominent in the looks he keeps casting at Phil. “Any chance of a nibble?”

Martyn doesn’t stay for long. Phil gives him two madeleines and all but ushers him out of the door, making excuses about needing to get everything baked and cooled before tomorrow rolls around. Martyn doesn’t seem too surprised by the urgency, but he does pull Phil aside for a quick ‘word’ before he goes; Dan pretends he doesn’t see them whispering by the door, and plays with Buffy instead for a while.

When Phil returns, everything seems a little more subdued. Martyn Lester has a big energy around him. It’s not quite as positive and colourful as Phil’s permanent aura, but it’s still there.

“Your brother’s lovely,” Dan says, burying his nose into Buffy’s fur.

Phil smiles, getting the final tray of madeleines out of the oven. “Yeah, he’s a good guy.”

Dan continues to stroke Buffy on his lap. He’s sat at Phil’s kitchen table now, much to Buffy’s glee. “You’ve talked to him about me?”

Phil doesn’t answer for a moment, focusing on getting the madeleines out of their molds.

“Yeah, I have before,” he says eventually. “I don’t blame you for talking to Tyler and Teddy about... us. Because I did it too. With Martyn.” Phil sighs, turning to face him. “You probably guessed that, though.”

“I thought maybe that could be the case.”

“He was very good about it,” Phil says quietly. Then he frowns. “But, well. He’s a lawyer. He’s very practically-minded. He doesn’t see…”

Phil trails off, and Dan pretends he doesn’t know why. 

It’s winter, so the light is already fading outside of Phil’s french windows, the closing of the day bringing all of the things he and Phil have been ignoring so far in its wake.

“Are the madeleines done?” Dan asks; Phil nods, turning off the oven. “Can we go watch Buffy on Netflix?”

Phil smiles at him, holding his gaze for a moment. He nods, walking over to hold out his hand. Dan takes it, happy to keep pretending for just a little bit longer.

*

They don’t catch much of the episode.

Unanimously, they decide that in spite of Phil’s lovely, spacious lounge, with its big television and sofa, that watching Buffy on his laptop on his bed is a far more appealing scenario.

Phil’s bedroom is just how Dan would have expected it to be, had he allowed his mind to wander to such lengths. The wallpaper is blue and green striped on one wall, against which his bed rests. The rest of the walls are white. There are three big windows, each with blinds that Dan doubts are often closed. One of them looks out onto the little garden Phil lets Buffy out into sometimes, and from this angle, Dan can see there’s a little pond, surrounded by reeds. Dan wouldn’t be surprised if he wandered out to find some colourful fish or newts swimming in the water. Heck, he wouldn’t be surprised if he found a damn dolphin out there.

Atop Phil’s chest of drawers are an array of colourful objects, including one of those grinning emoji cushions, a toy lion, and a Tetris lamp. The room is tidy, but not overly so - laundry spills out of his hamper, and there are things shoved under the bed.

It looks homely and inviting, so Dan clambers atop Phil’s green and blue plaid bedspread, and makes himself comfortable. Phil laughs at him, then grabs his laptop from where it’s charging, and sits down beside him.

Perhaps it’s the way Phil slips his arm around Dan’s shoulders with no hesitation, drawing him close, that makes it so difficult to concentrate on Buffy’s plight. About fifteen minutes into the episode, Dan realises he’s only just watched this one, but he hadn’t noticed, because all he could think about was the soft, steady beating of Phil’s heart, so close to his ear.

“Are you watching this, Dan?” Phil asks, tuned into Dan’s thoughts like always.

Dan shrugs one shoulder, hoping this will be sufficient. For some reason, he feels his eyes start to sting. He sniffs without meaning to, giving himself away.

Alarmed, Phil pauses Buffy, and tilts Dan’s chin up with his hand. “Hey, what’s wrong?”

Dan sniffs again, feeling the sparkle of moisture in his eyes. “It’s just… everything’s so perfect.”

Phil frowns, confused.

“It’s even better than I thought it would be, just being here with you, watching telly on a tiny screen in your room…” Dan wipes his eyes with the sleeve of Phil’s hoodie. “But it’s all about to fucking disappear, isn’t it? I don’t know, Phil. Maybe giving in to this was worse. Now we’ll know just how good it could be, and we’ll have to suffer, knowing we can never-”

“Hey, what are you on about?” Phil asks, kissing the spaces just below Dan’s eyes. His lips must catch the salt of Dan’s tears, but he doesn’t seem to mind. “Dan, we’re not going to go back to how things were last week.”

Dan blinks at him. “We’re not?”

“No,” Phil tells him firmly. “That was horrible. For both of us. What’s the point in torturing ourselves like that? It’s obvious that this is what we both want. Now that I know how wonderful it is, being with you, I’m not going to let you go again.”

The words skim over Dan, bewildering him. “I don’t understand. We can’t be together. You said… there’s a rule-”

“Forget what I said,” Phil tells him. “I was being an idiot. I don’t know how I could possibly have thought that anything - my stupid job, John’s stupid rules, any of it - was more important than you.” Phil takes hold of his hand and kisses it, sweetly, on each knuckle. “Than this.”

“But…” Dan protests, dazed. “I’m just… we’re barely even…”

“I can tell you this now, Dan,” Phil says gently. “In English. I knew from the second I met you that I was, to put it bluntly, completely fucked.”

Despite the moisture still collected on his lashes, Dan laughs. “Me too.”

“I never really believed in it before, but I felt such a strong pull to you when you first came into my classroom,” Phil confesses. “It was like I’d known you for years, in a different world. Like you were sent to me, and like I’d been told to stay there, in that dingy classroom, waiting until you showed up.”

“Phil… I’m just a shitty TA… I’m not-”

“There’s something here, Dan,” Phil interrupts. “I know that you have to feel it as well, otherwise why would this all feel so…”

Phil trails off, floundering for the word. He doesn’t need to say it though, Dan already knows.

“Yeah,” Dan whispers, nodding.

“I’m not going to let you go,” Phil says again, smiling. “It’s too late to undo it now. I don’t want to lose you again.”

“But… how are we going to-”

“Leave it to me,” Phil says, smiling. Dan studies his face for a hint of his plan, if he even has one. “I’ll sort it all out. Just please don’t worry any more. I can’t stand seeing you cry.”

Dan smiles, allowing Phil to wipe away the last of his tears with one thumb. He leans in to kiss him, and it melts away the doubt in his mind. Dan’s body pushes itself into the warmth of Phil’s chest; he smells like freshly baked cakes and lavender soap.

Phil pushes the laptop off himself, leaning over to kiss Dan into the pillows. As the twilight filters through Phil’s window, pouring a misted darkness over their entwined bodies, Dan sighs, surrendering to an untarnished, perfect moment, free of the worry Phil told him not to feel.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dan lifts his head, staring at Phil with a frown. “It’s only been like a week since you kissed me.”
> 
> “Non,” Phil tells him, leaning in to kiss him very gently. “Je te connais depuis toujours.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Read the translation of the French here!:
> 
> http://danfanciesphil.tumblr.com/post/170343337560/translation-of-french-chapter-14

A shrill barking wakes Dan from a very pleasant dream. In the dream, he’d been lying in a bed of squishy dough, warm and snug in a toasty oven. Every so often, the door of the oven would open, and Phil’s big, sunny face would peer through the crack to check on him, his broad smile big and soothing as gazed in at Dan, slowly baking away. **  
**

As the barks rouse him, he frowns, rather worried about his brain. Who dreams about being baked, and enjoys it?

He realises that he’s stiflingly hot, buried beneath several layers of quilt, which explains the dream a little more. As he pushes the covers away, he realises that there’s something heavy draped over his waist, and turns, surprised, to see Phil laying beside him, his glasses on, skewed on his nose.

Dan looks down at his own body, and realises that he and Phil are both fully dressed. They must have fallen asleep cuddling on his bed. Which means, Dan thinks, connecting the dots, that the barking is Buffy.

Smiling to himself, Dan moves a little closer to Phil, placing a hand on his chest. His heartbeat is slow and steady, lost as he is to dream, still. Just because he can, Dan presses a kiss to Phil’s lips, letting himself linger against them. There’s a hint of stubble on Phil’s chin, scritching pleasantly at Dan’s skin. He hums into the kiss, enjoying himself thoroughly.

It’s at that moment that Phil’s eyes peel open, blinking in astonishment as he takes in the sight of Dan, close and kissing him, in his bed.

“Wha… Dan,” Phil says, frowning. He leans backwards, and reaches up to remove his glasses. There are red, deep set marks where the frames have dug into his nose and cheek. Dan wants to run his fingers over them, to kiss them each in turn. “What’s the… is it morning?”

Phil turns, blearily, and stares out of the window at the early light filtering in. Then, he curses, sharp and urgent, sitting up abruptly.

“What’s wrong?” Dan asks, sitting up with him.

How could anything be wrong, right now? He woke up in Phil’s arms. This day is already the most perfect in creation.

Phil turns to him, obviously panicked, and grabs his phone. When he sees the screen, he curses again. He looks at Dan, alarmed. “Dan, it’s Monday morning.”

It takes Dan a moment, and then his eyes grow round and wide, matching Phil’s. “Oh, shit.”

“When you fell asleep on me, I told myself I’d just watch the end of the episode and then I’d take you home, but I was so sleepy and-”

“What time is it?” Dan asks, trying to remain calm.

“Eight thirty-three,” Phil answers, checking his phone again.

It’s not really the time to be thinking it, but Dan can’t help notice how good Phil looks, with his messy bed hair and rumpled clothes. He replays the moment before he must have dozed off last night, when Phil’s hand had inched its way into his jeans as Buffy Summers kicked the ass of a demonic creature in the background.

It had been, in Dan’s opinion, a handjob worthy of a Nobel Prize. It had also, apparently, wiped them both out.

“Dan, did you hear me?”

“Hm?”

Phil lets out a frustrated little groan, then seizes Dan’s face in his hands. “Dan, you’re very cute and everything, but we need to get up. I’m usually at work by eight-thirty.”

“Right,” Dan says, trying as hard as he can not to get lost in the infinity pools of Phil’s eyes. “Yeah, shit, sorry.”

Phil leans in and presses a rather cruelly brief kiss to his lips, then swings his legs out of the bed. As he watches Phil flitting around the room, peeling off his jumper with one hand, grabbing for his shoes with the other, a realisation washes over Dan.

“I… don’t have my work clothes,” he says, trying hard not to panic.

Phil turns to him, chest bare. He looks at the shirt in his hand, a purple and black plaid number that he’s plucked from the wardrobe. He throws it at Dan without hesitation, then dives back into the wardrobe to find another.

“Oh, um, thanks.”

“No problem,” Phil says, pulling on a dark blue shirt now, covered in little corgis. “Hurry up though, we need to leave in like ten minutes if we’re going to make it.”

Dan nods, deciding to swallow his desire to ask for a different, plainer shirt. He can suck up wearing some colour for one day. He pulls off the Sunnydale High jumper Phil lent him yesterday, and slips Phil’s shirt on. He catches Phil looking, a fleeting glance at the revealed skin, and smirks.

“Excuse me, Mr Lester, I will not be ogled.”

Phil chuckles, sitting on the bed to pull on his socks. When he’s finished, he leans over and kisses Dan on the cheek.

“I like it when you wear my things,” he says. Dan’s face heats immediately, making Phil laugh and poke him. “Wish I could just drag you back into bed, to be honest.”

“You’re not allowed to say that if you want me to hurry up,” Dan complains as Phil stands up again, ducking out of the room.

“Stop being so pretty then,” he calls from somewhere else in the house.

Dan sighs, wondering how on earth this day is going to pan out considering the rollercoaster of a weekend he’s had. As he mulls over the idea of working alongside Phil, in the classroom, listening to him teach in that eclectic way of his, Dan’s stomach begins to flip.

How is he going to be able to hide his feelings for Phil, now? The activities they’ve indulged in this weekend are written across his face, surely. Does Phil even intend for them to hide this - whatever this is? He’d said last night that he had a plan that would solve everything, but can that be true?

Just as this latter thought begins to grow monstrous, evil fangs, poising itself above Dan, ready to sink its teeth in, Phil wanders back into the room. His hair has been tamed somewhat, and there’s a smudge of toothpaste in the corner of his mouth.

The monster recoils, blinded by Phil’s brilliant radiance. The idea of kissing the speck of toothpaste off of Phil’s mouth is incredibly calming, so Dan gets up, walks over, and does exactly that.

Phil smiles at him, but there’s a modicum of panic, still, behind his eyes. “I’ve let Buffy out quickly and poured her some food,” he says, probably more to himself than anything, Dan thinks. “I don’t have a spare toothbrush I’m afraid, but maybe you could-”

“It’s fine,” Dan says, trying to sound reassuring despite the anxiety monster still lurking behind him somewhere. “I have some gum in my coat.”

Phil laughs; the sound of it never fails to put Dan at ease. “Nice. Okay, I’ll go get Buffy back in, and then we should go. Are you ready?”

Dan nods. Phil lets out a relieved sigh, and heads out of the room.

*

Dan has just closed the passenger door of the car when Phil gasps, turning to Dan, alarmed.

“The madeleines!” He hops straight out again, running towards the house full pelt. Dan snorts with laughter, rolling his eyes. They’re already ridiculously late, but God forbid the Year Nine’s don’t receive their baked goods.

He returns a minute later with two cake tins, one under each arm. As he slips into the driver’s seat, he deposits them on Dan’s lap.

“No snacking.”

“But I haven’t had breakfast,” Dan says, pouting.

Phil wavers, looking torn. “Okay, you can have one, but you have to share it with me.”

“Deal,” Dan says, laughing, and delves into one of the tins.

He feeds Phil bits of the madeleine as they drive along. Mercifully, the school traffic doesn’t seem particularly bad this morning, and they get there in under ten minutes.

“Eight fifty-one,” Dan says, huffing an impressed laugh. “Christ, I can’t believe we made it.”

“That was stressful,” Phil says, glancing at his reflection in the rearview mirror. He tuts at whatever he sees, playing with his side fringe and frowning.

Dan takes hold of his hand, stilling the movements. “You look irritatingly gorgeous, Phil. Just like every morning.”

Phil squeezes Dan’s hand, smiling warmly. He holds Dan’s gaze, thumb stroking softly across his knuckle.

A rap on Dan’s window startles them both. Phil drops Dan’s hand like it’s burning, but it’s too late. The expression on John’s face as he stares through the glass is not a happy one.

“Shit,” Phil hisses under his breath, echoing Dan’s sentiments exactly.

He rolls down the window, making Dan’s heart race wildly. Could they not just drive away? Speed off into the horizon with their hands linked again, like a male version of Thelma and Louise?

“Mr Howell, Mr Lester,” John greets them coldly. “Would you mind getting out of the car, please?”

*

Given the time restrictions, John tells them both to report to his office at break time. From his tone of voice, Dan highly doubts it’s for a chat over tea and biscuits.

There’s a decidedly morose atmosphere as Phil hands out the madeleines to the students of their first class. The students seem to pick up on the air of dread that hangs above their teachers’ heads, and murmur to each other quietly, devoid of their usual enthusiasm for Phil’s class. So as not to exacerbate an already bad situation, Dan tries his best not to be too obvious about his and Phil’s dalliance in front of the kids.

He tries, but they’re not stupid.

“Did you pop round to Mr Lester’s house just to borrow his shirt this morning, sir?” Matthew asks as Dan is helping him shade a portion of the Arc du Triomphe (they’re continuing with the mural). “Or did he bring it in specially, ‘cause he thought it’d match your eyes?”  

Dan rolls his eyes, about to deflect this question with something irrelevant, when a voice interrupts him.

“Cram it, Matt. People have the same shirts as other people. Shocker.”

Dan lifts his eyes to meet Jonah’s as discreetly as he can, sending him a small smile of gratitude. Jonah winks subtly as Matthew rolls his eyes.

Around half an hour into the lesson, Dan wanders over to Phil, mostly because he cannot help himself. “How’re you doing?”

“Trying not to think about it,” Phil mutters under his breath. “You?”

“Shitting myself,” Dan sighs, the butterflies in his stomach reforming in their chrysalises. “Do you think there’s a chance we can convince him we were just…”

“Holding hands in prayer?” Phil asks, bitterly. “Platonically arriving together, late, with you in my clothes? Oh yeah, I’m sure he’ll buy that.”

Dan blinks, a little taken aback by Phil’s unusual sarcasm. “I guess when you put it that way…”

Phil seems to catch on to the glimmer of hurt in Dan’s voice, because he sighs, linking their little fingers together, out of sight of the kids. “Sorry,” he whispers. “I’m just worried. I didn’t mean to take it out on you. I get kind of… moody when I’m stressed.”

“Honestly it’s pretty hot,” Dan confesses, squeezing Phil’s finger. It makes Phil smile a little, but it’s short lived. “It might not be as terrible as we think, with John.”

“I can’t believe this has happened already,” Phil says, seeming to ignore Dan’s attempt at reassurance. He looks skyward, shaking his head. “I thought we could at least have a day or two of hiding it so I could figure something out…”

Dan swallows, nodding. So there never was a plan, then. Phil had just been saying that to calm him down. It should probably make him annoyed, but it just seems incredibly sweet. Dan sends him a glance that he hopes speaks to this effect, and they both sigh, releasing their fingers.

“The kids seem to like the madeleines,” Dan offers, casting a gaze around the classroom.

Though the students seem a little more subdued than normal, they are undoubtedly enjoying the pleasant atmosphere in here, nibbling on their freshly baked cakes while they colour their favourite scenes of Paris. They lounge about the floor in little groups, chatting quietly, models of behaviour.

Dan is glad they’re so calm this morning. He’s not sure he could handle any pep.

“Well, I had a great baking assistant,” Phil says, making Dan smile.

“Please, all I did was watch in silent admiration.”

“I seem to remember you did a little more than that.”

Dan splutters, throwing him a dirty look. “So not the time.”

Phil just laughs. “Just trying to lighten the mood.”

*

The door to the Vice Principal’s office is dark green. Fitting, Dan thinks as he stares at the nameplate tacked onto the outside. He checks his phone for the time.

10:59am.

He’d kind of hoped he’d run into Phil outside, and that they’d be able to exchange a quick, reassuring look, but he’s nowhere to be seen. Perhaps he’s been held up after his second class, and is running late. Whatever the reason, Dan knows it would only make things worse if he were late to this meeting, so he takes a deep breath, and knocks on the door.

“Come in, Mr Howell,” John’s voice calls.

It confuses Dan for a moment. How does John know that it’s him? He pushes open the door, his eyebrows lifting as he notes that Phil is already inside, sat on one of the two chairs in front of John’s desk.

Both he and John turn to face him, and he closes the door behind himself with a small click, feeling like a zoo animal. How long has Phil been here?

“Hi,” Dan says, not knowing what else to say.

He moves to the seat beside Phil, perching on it awkwardly, heart pounding. Phil catches his eye, giving him a small smile. Dan drinks it in gratefully.

“Good morning, Mr Howell.” John’s tone of voice is grim. “Thank you for coming. Now that you’re both here, I’ll get straight to the point.”

Dan swallows, his fingernails digging into his clammy palms. He wishes he could reach across and grab ahold of Phil’s hand, but obviously that would be a pretty bad idea. Instead, he imagines he’s back at Phil’s house, still, beneath the covers beside him, their limbs tangled, their bodies sinking into his soft mattress.

“I’m afraid it’s come to the attention of myself and several other staff members that the two of you have violated the terms of your employment,” John says, his fingers lacing together on his desk. “Whilst I hesitate to think of the two of you as being unprofessional, it has come to light that-”

“John, can we cut the work jargon and talk properly?” Phil interrupts, his voice so grave that Dan barely recognises it. He blinks at Phil in surprise, mildly concerned about how John might respond. “We all know why we’re here.”

John leans back in his chair, sighing loudly. He holds Phil’s gaze for a while, and then nods.

“Fine,” he says eventually. “Phil, Daniel, I’m not going to sugar coat this. There’s substantial evidence that the two of you are romantically involved, and as you are both aware, employee relationships are prohibited in this institution.”

“No, Dan didn’t know,” Phil argues. “He was rushed through the training programme, he’s still new here. He couldn’t have known such a specific rule unless he was told-”

“That may have been initially true,” John says, his voice a little louder now. “But as you assured me, Phil, you informed him of the rule after I spoke with you on Tuesday. Yet the two of you have chosen to ignore this, and continue.”

“Says who?” Dan jumps in, realising a second too late that this perhaps isn’t particularly wise.

He had no idea of the evidence amounted against them. Jonah could have said anything; Dan doesn’t know for sure. 

“Dan, there’s no point-”

“Well, aside from the majority of the student body passing around gossip of what occurred during the Paris trip,” John begins, silencing Phil before he can get the words out. “There is the fact that the two of you arrived together this morning.”

“That’s not a crime!” Dan points out.

“Holding hands in the school parking lot, dressed in each other’s clothes… Dan, that in itself is enough to prompt speculation amongst the students, which is precisely the reason for the rule in the first place.” John, to his credit, sounds apologetic about his own words. “We can’t afford this kind of distraction to their learning, particularly when it comes to your class, Mr Lester. You achieve the best history results in the entire school, to have those grades reduce due to your inability to focus on anything but your TA would be catastrophic for the school’s reputation.”

“Then I’ll quit,” Phil says calmly.

Dan whips his head round to Phil in lightning speed. “ _What_? Phil, don’t be crazy-”

“Dan, please,” Phil says, his voice low and quiet. He meets Dan’s gaze, eyes shining with such certainty that Dan slumps in his seat, already feeling defeated. Phil turns back to John, arms folded. “John, this rule is antiquated and ridiculous, as you are well aware. I checked my contract, and the rule was implemented in 1957. It’s absurd to think that the same conditions apply now, especially in a case like this, where Dan and I only work together twice a week, for an hour at a time.”

John, looking a little flustered by Phil’s threat of quitting, wipes a hand across his brow.

“I don’t disagree with you, Phil,” he confesses. “However, it’s not my decision. I can’t bend the rules just because we’re friends, and I certainly can’t look the other way - not when the students are discussing it all day like it’s a damned television romance-”

“Furthermore,” Phil presses, ignoring John entirely. Dan feels his chest swell with something like pride, watching Phil remain perfectly composed, laying out his argument clearly. “Dan has been my assistant since the beginning of term. Whilst our… mutual feelings have only just been acknowledged,” Phil glances at Dan, smiling very slightly. “It’s safe to say that he’s been ‘distracting’ me for the whole of that time. Yet if you’ll check my Year Nine and Year Eight class results, you’ll notice that they’re better than ever before. Because Dan is an asset, not a hindrance. He is an excellent TA, probably the best I’ve ever had, helped by the fact that we are so in sync. Our romantic relationship, if anything, makes us stronger as a teaching unit, and allows us to be the best team for the students.”

“We do work well together,” Dan agrees quietly. “The kids all say our lessons are the ones they look forward to, and learn from, the most.”

“That may be, but-”

“John, if you honestly think that Dan and I being together affects the students negatively, then I’m afraid I will have no choice but to hand in my notice.” Phil’s announcement is like a bomb dropping. A hush falls over the office; even Dan’s hands tighten on the arms of his chair. “I’m not prepared to work in such discriminative conditions after I have proven myself to be an excellent teacher here. My relationship to Dan has not affected my performance. I am not prepared to allow my career to interrupt…” he trails off, eyes fixing themselves on Dan’s face. “Anything.”

There’s another silence, and then John sighs. “Phil, I need you to be completely clear about this. If you are really willing to stake your job on a budding relationship, I advise you to think carefully-”

“I have, thank you.”

“Phil, please, it’s okay, we should talk about-”

Phil shakes his head, cutting Dan off. “There’s nothing to talk about.”

John looks at him for a long moment, seeming to deliberate. “Alright. Well, I’m sure you’re aware that you’re an extremely valuable member of the faculty, Mr Lester. I wouldn’t be surprised if the school would do a great deal to prevent your departure. Allow me to discuss your ultimatum with the Principal, and we’ll see if we can come to a conclusion of sorts.”

Dan’s eyes widen. Could John be offering a glimmer of hope?

“Please do,” Phil says, moving to stand from his chair. “Dan and I will wait for your decision.”

“Fine,” John says, nodding. “I’m promising absolutely nothing, boys. Rules are rules, and you have broken one. I’ll be in touch. In the meantime… try and behave professionally, please.”

“Bye, John,” Phil says dismissively, standing from his chair.

Dan follows him, legs shaky, and nods at John, who is already dialling his phone. Phil makes a point of holding the door open for him, something that doesn’t escape John’s notice. Dan walks out quietly, and tries to comprehend what on earth just happened. 

*

As soon as they step out of John’s office, they’re ambushed.

Dan doesn’t get a chance to speak to Phil about what he’d said inside, as before he can get the words out, Jonah Frank is in front of them, flanked by Bethany and Savannah, their faces anxious.

“Why were you in VP Green’s office, sirs?”

“Oh, Jonah,” Dan says, glancing at Phil. “I’m not sure this is the time…”

“We were just having a meeting, guys,” Phil tells them vaguely. “Nothing to worry about.”

“It’s about you guys hookin’ up, isn’t it?” Jonah asks, making Dan roll his eyes.

“For God’s sake, Jonah,” he says under his breath.

He supposes it doesn’t matter if the whole corridor hears now, however. The students apparently discuss the idea of he and Phil as a couple freely, despite their efforts to hide things.

“It’s cool, Mr Howell,” Savannah says. “Beth and I won’t say anything.”

“Guys… we can’t discuss things with you, I’m sorry,” Phil cuts in, perpetually the voice of reason. He always knows what to say. “We’ll let you know what happens if it gets to that point.”

“Wait, so it’s true, then?” Jonah’s face is alarmed. “You guys could be canned?”

Dan and Phil exchange a glance. Phil seems to deliberate on his wording. “There’s a… possibility of suspension, yes.”

“Shit…” Jonah says; the girls cover their mouths with their hands. “This is all my fault. I should’a just kept my mouth shut. I didn’t think VP Green’d actually sack you.”

“Neither did we,” Dan mutters.

“Jonah, don’t blame yourself for anything that might happen,” Phil tells him firmly. “Nothing is certain anyway, but even if it ended up that Mr Howell or I lost our jobs, it would be the result of our own actions, not yours.”

“Fuck’s sake, I hate this place,” Jonah spits, glaring at VP Green’s closed door. “The only good thing about it is you an’ your class, Mr Lester. And now that might be gone, too.”

The bell rings then, and Dan sighs, resolving to discuss the meeting with Phil later. He gives Phil a grim smile, waggling his fingers at him, and takes a deep breath, about to start off towards the Science Block. Before he can take a step however, Jonah speaks again.

“Oi, sirs, I’m gonna fix it, yeah?” He says, looking fearsome. “Leave it to me, I got you into trouble I know - but I’m good at gettin’ out of it.”

Dan smiles fondly, finding his surety very touching. “Sweet of you to try, Jonah.”

“Sometimes you just have to let things unfold, Jonah,” Phil tells him wisely, then waves goodbye, walking briskly off towards his own classroom.

*

Dan doesn’t get a chance to speak to Phil about what happened until lunch. He finds Phil in the staffroom making coffee, dark circles under his eyes. When he sees Dan approach, he offers him the cup he’s just made straight away, and turns back to the pot to pour another.

Dan’s opening line dies on his lips, touched by the small gesture. “How are you?” He asks instead. 

Phil offers him a weak smile. “I’ve been better, honestly.”

Dan shuts his eyes, sighing into his coffee. “Phil… why did you…”

“It’s the only way to get them to listen,” Phil says before Dan can get the words out. “The rule is stupid and pointless. Even if I have to walk over this, the system is oppressive and needs to change. This could force their hand.”

“It’s such a risk, Phil. I should be the one to leave, not you.”

Phil peers over his freshly made cup, a smirk on his lips. “No offence, Dan, but I don’t think you walking out would quite carry the same weight. You’ve been here a couple of months. I’ve been here for two years.”

In his heart, Dan knows that what Phil is saying makes sense. Even so, the idea of Phil quitting his job, which he loves, deeply, just for him - it’s too much. Too big of a sacrifice. Dan isn’t worth that kind of gesture. 

“This is so unfair,” Dan says.

He can feel himself getting choked up out of frustration, tears stinging in his eyes. He knows it’s just because he’s overtired and stressed, but it’s still embarrassing, having Phil see. Luckily for him, Phil is the most wonderful creation in the universe, so he puts down his coffee and ushers Dan into the staff bathroom.

Safely sealed inside the private space, Phil pulls Dan into his arms, wrapping him up tightly. He kisses Dan’s forehead, rocking gently as Dan struggles to hold himself together.

“ _Ne t'inquiète pas_ ,” he whispers. “ _Je te tiens_.”

*

They don’t hear from John for the rest of the day. Dan wanders into Phil’s classroom just after the last bell, sitting down on one of the student’s desks with a sigh. Phil watches him while he tidies some things away on his desk, smiling sadly.

“Wanna come over for a while?”

Dan thinks about it for a moment, then nods. “I haven’t brushed my teeth since Sunday morning. Just so you’re aware before you get too hospitable.”

Phil chuckles, wandering over to him. “We can pick you up a toothbrush on the way.”

They both glance over at the classroom door, checking it’s closed before they touch. Dan winds his arms around Phil’s waist, resting his head on Phil’s chest. 

“For me to keep at your house?” Dan asks into Phil’s breastbone. “Next thing you know I’ll have a whole drawer there, Phil. Steady on.”

“I’d happily give you a whole chest of drawers, to be honest.”

Dan lifts his head, staring at Phil with a frown. “It’s only been like a week since you kissed me.”

“ _Non_ ,” Phil tells him, leaning in to kiss him very gently. “ _Je te connais depuis toujours_.”

*

 **Tyler**  
um… are u dead

 **Dan**  
only internally

 **Tyler**  
are u ever coming home or

 **Dan**  
no u guys pissed me off too much  
and im moving out baiii

 **Tyler  
** ah, k. how is it in ur new home? dark?  
cramped?

 **Dan**  
???

 **Tyler**  
well i assume you’ve now moved  
permanently into phil’s ass

 **Dan**  
TYLER HE FUCKING READ THAT  
I HATE U

 **Tyler  
** miss u and ur screaming :( come home  
soon we have much to gossip about x

 **Dan**  
i’ll be home tonight or tomorrow xx

*

They’re on Phil’s sofa, Dan’s head in Phil’s lap, Buffy snoozing on Dan’s chest, when a random thought occurs to him.

“Phil?”

“Mm?”

Dan stares up at him, the sharp cut of his jawline, stubbled and pretty, catching his eye.

“You said you have a tattoo.”

The corner of Phil’s mouth twitches, almost imperceptibly. “Did I?”

 _Thor_ is playing in the background on Phil’s TV, but neither of them have been paying close attention. They’ve both seen it before, and besides, Dan’s far more interested in tracing the contours of Phil’s pretty face with his eyes from below. Not to mention, Phil’s hand has been in his hair for some time now, massaging gently. It’s still curly from yesterday, as the kids had been all too gleeful to point out for the entire day.

“Uh, yes.” Dan tries to sit up a little, but Buffy is having none of it. He rolls his eyes at her indignant expression, sinking back onto Phil’s lap. “On the boat, when we were playing that game with the kids.”

“Huh, strange,” Phil says, that hint of a smile still playing on his lips.

Dan just stares at him. “So… do you, or don’t you?”

There’s a silence. Phil picks up his tea and takes a long drink of it, then places it carefully back on the arm of the sofa. His eyes drag slowly down to Dan’s.

“I guess you’ll have to find out.”

Buffy squeals in indignation as she is pushed off Dan’s chest, but he has no time to apologise to her. He climbs up onto Phil’s lap in seconds, hands at the collar of his shirt immediately. Phil laughs at his eagerness, welcoming the kisses Dan plants on his lips.

It takes only a few seconds to get Phil’s shirt open, but it feels like centuries go by. Dan tugs at it impatiently, yanking it over his shoulders and trying to shove it down his arms. Phil is laughing still, apparently finding Dan’s efforts extremely amusing, but going along with it anyway.

It’s his own fault, anyway, Dan thinks. He can’t just dangle the prospect of a hidden tattoo in front of him without expecting to be ravished. He gasps as Phil’s hands find his bum, moving Dan in closer with a strong, sharp pull. Dan wiggles in his lap, drawing away from Phil’s lips.

“Hands off, I need to get you naked,” Dan complains, frustrated. Phil is surprisingly strong.

“What about you?”

“I’ll get naked after,” Dan explains impatiently, making Phil laugh.

It seems to do the trick though, as he releases his hold on Dan’s bum, and allows the shirt to slip completely off his body. Dan sits back, surveying the exposed flesh. It’s safe to say that Phil’s chest and stomach are decidedly unblemished, and devoid of anything but miles of gorgeous, pale skin. Dan runs his fingers over it anyway, lifting each of Phil’s arms and peering at them, dragging his lips down their lengths, shoulder to each fingertip.

When he’s satisfied that neither arm is inked, he leans back again, catching sight of Phil’s amused smile.

“I might have to be extremely thorough,” Dan warns him, entirely serious. “I plan to leave no place unsearched.”

“Of course, Detective Howell,” Phil says, nodding sombrely. “I completely understand.”

Without another word, Dan slips off Phil’s lap and onto the floor, landing between his legs. He kneels up, reaching at once for Phil’s belt and fly, wanting to waste no time. He’s always had a weakness for tattoos. He’s too scared to actually get one himself, too anxious of a person to trust his decision for such a permanent thing, but on other people - it’s incredibly attractive.

If Phil really does possess a tattoo, Dan thinks as he slides Phil’s jeans down his legs, it means there are all sorts of things about him that Dan doesn’t know, potentially. The thought excites him. Will the tattoo be something tribal, to represent an aspect of Phil’s personality? Will it be a memory, shared with someone Dan doesn’t know? Will it be just a pattern Phil liked? Or a caricature of Justin Bieber on one of his buttcheeks?

Dan thinks he might’ve noticed that last one before now, but he doesn’t know for sure. He hadn’t really been paying close attention to Phil’s nether regions when they’d been on display yesterday; Phil’s actions had been… rather distracting, as he recalls.

Once Phil’s jeans are off, Dan gets to work, taking Phil’s leg and extending it out before inspecting it closely, pressing little kisses as he goes. He checks from ankle to thigh, even peering at the space behind Phil’s knee.

He takes Phil’s feet in his hand one at a time, peeling off the socks to check every toe.

“Knew you had a foot fetish,” Phil says, watching him with a grin.

Just to mess with him, Dan licks a stripe up the underside of his left foot, making him shriek. “For these babies, I might.”

Phil laughs, and Dan moves back to his former position, knelt between his legs on the floor.

“Give up?” Phil asks, a teasing lilt to his voice.

Dan snorts. “As if. I’m just getting started, mate.”

He trails his hands up Phil’s thighs then, already drunk on the little gasping noise that slips from Phil’s mouth. He hooks his fingers into the elastic of Phil’s boxers, pulling them carefully down as Phil lifts his bum from the sofa.

As ever, the sight of him, naked and aroused, is enough to knock the air out of Dan’s lungs. He can’t help the tiny groan that falls from his lips, just as he can’t stop himself leaning in and taking hold of Phil’s length in one hand, and slipping his mouth over the tip.

“Fuck…” he hears Phil say, making him shiver.

Phil is smooth and slick as Dan allows the length of him to slide into his mouth. He can feel his mouth being stretched wide, can feel the tip nudging the back of his throat. Dan swallows, moaning a little, his eyes fluttering as the taste of Phil filters through. He lets himself sink down, relishing the sensation Phil pushing so far inside.

He reaches down to palm himself through his jeans, just to relieve some of the pressure building up there. He starts to bob his head, letting Phil’s breathy noises guide him into what’s good and what isn’t. He works his hand too, allowing his lips to meet the circle of his fist.

“Dan, baby, that’s so… oh, fuck....” Phil is saying, babbling really.

After a while, Dan forces himself to pull off; Phil lets out an agonised cry. Dan wipes the corner of his mouth, smirking. “Hang on. I’m still looking for something.”

Phil’s responding groan is anguished, but Dan doesn’t allow it to deter him. Instead, he grabs Phil’s hands and pulls him down to his level, into his lap, so that Phil’s legs straddle him.

“You’re such a tease,” Phil tells him, practically pouting.

Dan just grins. “It’s payback for all the totally outside-the-rules flirting during school hours.”

“What? When?!” 

“Um, try every fucking day.” 

“Whatever, I hate you. Please just hurry up and find it.”

Dan’s eyebrows raise at this instruction, catching the implication that there is, at least, something to find. “Turn around.”

There’s a glimmer of something wicked in Phil’s eyes, but he does so, carefully twisting around on Dan’s lap. He leans forwards, arms braced against the sofa cushion in front of them both, sat on Dan’s knees still, now with his back on show.

Dan’s eyes rake down the canvas of Phil’s skin; immediately he understands why he hadn’t noticed the tattoo until now. It’s low down, on Phil’s left side, wrapped around the back of his hip.

Dan stares at it for a long time before reaching out to trace it, lightly, using just the tips of his fingers. He didn’t realise tattoos this pretty existed. It’s like a piece of art.

“Paris,” Dan observes, his finger edging along the skyline, drawn so neatly, so simply, into Phil’s skin.

The thin line is unbroken, as if it’s all connected, the outline of the Eiffel Tower joined to the Sacre Coeur, and the Moulin Rouge. It’s minimalistic, to say the least, just one long, very thin black line, outlining the city.

It’s incredibly beautiful. It seems to fit on Phil’s body, resting delicately on his hip, as if he’d been born with it.

“Yeah, I know,” Phil sighs, the line of his shoulders shifting. “ _Cliché._ ”

Dan leans his cheek against the space between Phil’s shoulder blades, staring down at it across the desert of Phil’s back. “Phil, it’s beautiful. You’re beautiful.”

Phil looks over his shoulder, and Dan leans up to kiss him. He wraps his arms around Phil’s waist, dragging him backwards until they’re back to chest. He can feel Phil’s irregular breathing, and he treasures the sound, mentally saving it on a loop for when he’s alone, and needs to remember how wrecked he can, somehow, make this man, scintillating as he is.

Dan’s hands glide down Phil’s chest and stomach, his chin tucked over one shoulder, pressing kisses at the base of his neck. He takes hold of Phil’s erection, still full and proud, damp now from the anticipation, and starts stroking him gently.

Phil’s head falls backwards, the base of his skull brushing Dan’s shoulder. “Dan…”

“Mm?”

“ _Tes mains se sentent incroyables_ ,” Phil croaks out.

Dan’s hand stops moving. “What are you saying? It’s not fair, I can’t understand you.”

Phil turns his head to look Dan in the eye, clearly surprised. “Nothing, I’m just… saying you feel good.”

The answer frustrates him in its ambiguity. “Will you translate for me, at least?”

The crinkles around Phil’s eyes deepen, and he smirks.. “I said… your hands feel incredible.”

Dan flushes immediately, caught off guard. “O-oh.”

Phil surges up and kisses him then, slow and teasing, licking against Dans lower lip. “ _S’il te plait… ne tu arrete pas_.”

Dan feels the goosebumps rip over his skin. “What did you say then?”

“I said please don’t stop,” Phil says, and Dan bites his lip. As requested, he starts moving his hand again, and Phil’s head flops backwards, eyes closing.

“Phil....” Dan whispers, suddenly indescribably turned on, staring down over Phil’s shoulder at the expanse of his naked body. “Will you…”

He hesitates, and Phil opens one eye, a sliver of ice blue visible around the black hole of his pupil. “Will I...?”

Swallowing his embarrassment, Dan moves his mouth until his lips are brushing the shell of Phil’s ear.

“ _Baise-moi_ ,” he whispers.

Phil grabs hold of Dan’s wrist, stilling the movement around his erection. “ _Mon dieu_ , Daniel. Where did you learn…”

Dan laughs a little, unwrapping his fingers from Phil’s length, sensing he might be rather close to the edge as it is. If Dan’s going to get what he wants, he needs to move quickly.  

“I’ve been… looking up some words and phrases. Just in case.”

He hears Phil take a deep breath, and then he stands, chucking a mischievous glance over his shoulder at Dan as he sashays across the room towards his bedroom. Dan stares for a moment, mesmerised by the sight of his naked backside, the newly revealed tattoo resting above it, before he scrambles to his feet and runs after him.

Excited by Dan’s brisk movements, Buffy trots along behind him, her tongue out, happily ignorant of the sin in front of her twitching nose. Dan reaches down to pat her, gently pointing her in the other direction. 

He slips into Phil’s room and quickly shuts the door on her, feeling bad, but knowing that it was necessary. 

By the time Dan turns around, Phil is reclined on his bed, squeezing something clear and gel-like into his palm from a small purple bottle. Wanting to waste no time, Dan peels off the shirt Phil lent him, and unfastens his jeans, shimmying them off as he dives onto the bed.

Phil laughs at his eagerness, rolling them over so he’s on top of Dan, eyes hooded. “ _Tu sembles impatient, ce soir._ ”

Heart fluttering, Dan swats him gently in the shoulder. “English.”

“I said,” Phil growls, his fingers already sliding Dan’s briefs down his thighs. “You seem impatient, this evening.”

Dan feels the flush as it ripples down his throat. He shouldn’t have asked. “C-can you blame me?”

Phil nips at the base of his neck, where there are already a bouquet of bruises, barely coverable by the shirts he wears to school. “I quite like it, actually.”

Before Dan can respond, Phil’s hand is wrapping around his erection, slippery and warm, his fingers curling tightly as he slicks them up and down.

“ _Ohh_ ,” Dan moans, his hips bucking into Phil’s fist. “Holy fucking shit, Phil. Excuse my French.”

Phil snorts with laughter.

All of a sudden, any ability to be funny slips away as Dan feels the fingers of Phil’s other hand slipping between his cheeks, pressing firmly against his hole. He sucks in a breath, his body twitching in surprise. Phil just continues stroking up and down his length with one hand, his other fingers circling Dan’s rim.

The over-stimulation might actually be enough to make him black out, Dan thinks vaguely.

“Fuck,” Dan curses again, his hands winding into Phil’s covers, pulling them free of the corners. “Oh God,” he groans. “Please fuck me.”

Phil chuckles again, but he sounds a little strung out, if Dan isn’t mistaken. “ _Tu es trop pleurniches_.” He sighs, pushing his finger inside, making Dan groan. “ _Et trop joli_.” Dan hits him in the shoulder again, making Phil laugh. “I said you’re so whiny.”

Something seems off about Phil’s translation, but it’s hard to concentrate on that when Phil’s finger is pressing so deeply into him, making him squirm. He continues pumping his hand over Dan’s length too, which is dizzyingly hot, so Dan just writhes and whimpers, clinging to the bedsheets for dear life.

Phil is quick about opening him up, this time, for which Dan is grateful. There’s still a slight burn, as he’s far from used to this yet, but he would gladly endure ten times the pain for the experience of having Phil inside of him like before. Once he’s three fingers deep, Phil crooks his fingers, deftly, seeming to know exactly how and where, and Dan chokes off a low, rumbling moan of ecstasy.

“ _Ici, mon ange?_ ”

“Unnngh, Phil talk in English, please,” Dan begs, his face turning to burrow into the mattress.

“Sorry,” Phil mutters, seeming to pause before translating this time. “Here, Dan?” He pushes against Dan’s prostate again, making him yelp.

Yet again, Dan’s not sure that Phil actually said that, but he doesn’t have it in him to argue. So he just nods, biting down on his lip, possibly a little too hard.

Phil draws his hands free of Dan, eliciting a groan of anguish from him. Dan sits up, bewildered and affronted by this action. Phil just giggles at his expression, and picks up the bottle of lube from wherever he dropped it last. He holds it up to Dan in explanation.

“Hm, I hope I have some condoms in here,” Phil mutters, reaching across to dig into his bedside drawer. “I’m pretty sure I-”

“Leave it,” Dan says, impatient. “I’ve never even done this with anyone but you. Are you clean?”

Phil turns to him in surprise. He nods, pressing his lips together. “I am,” he says quietly. “But maybe- just to be sure-”

“I believe you Phil, Christ,” Dan argues, kicking him in the leg. “Get over here.”

To Dan’s sheer relief, Phil does as asked, crawling towards him. He kneels by Dan’s legs, squeezing another dollop of lube onto his outstretched palm. As he rubs his fingers together, he drags his eyes over Dan’s body; absurdly, it makes Dan blush.

“Turn over,” Phil instructs, sending a lance of hot, debilitating arousal through Dan’s body.

His breaths become a little more difficult to catch, for some reason, and fall from his mouth in short, stuttery gasps as he rolls onto his stomach, desperate to obey Phil’s command. He hears a slick sound, and imagines the sight of Phil’s fist pumping over himself, covering his flushed erection with the lubricant. He feels Phil’s hands on his hips, canting them upwards, so that Dan’s face presses into the mattress.

His lungs tighten, face on fire as he thinks about how exposed he is. “Ph-phil, I-”

“Shh,” Phil says; Dan feels him dragging the tip of his length over his rim, and his hips twitch in Phil’s hands. “You’re so good, Dan. So gorgeous. There’s no word for how you look in French. Gorgeous.”

Dan directs his ragged breathing into the covers of Phil’s bed. He feels the familiar burn of being stretched open as Phil pushes in, going slow again, one thumb stroking gently over his hipbone.

Nobody has ever called him anything other than ‘hot’ before. Stephanie used to call him cute sometimes, or tell him he looked sexy in a certain shirt, but ‘gorgeous’? That’s a word he would never have associated with his appearance. It’s a loaded word, heavier than beautiful, more charged with attraction, with want.

His cheeks burn. ‘Gorgeous’ is how Phil sees him, even like this.

He pushes his hips backwards, feeling Phil slip further inside. He can tell the movement takes Phil by surprise, because Phil’s hands tighten on his hips, as if trying to slow him down. But Dan doesn’t want to slow down. He wants Phil to wreck him, to split him apart with his face crushed into the green-blue of his bedspread.

He lifts his head, intending to tell Phil exactly this. “You can be rougher, if you want,” he says, voice scratchy and weak. “I won’t break.”

A tiny moan spills from Phil’s throat. It makes Dan smile, proud. “Tell me if I hurt you, okay?”

“Is it bad if I don’t really mind?”

The only answer Dan receives is a mildly strangled sound, followed by Phil thrusting his hips forwards so abruptly that Dan cries out. Immediately, Phil stills behind him, leaning forwards in alarm.

“Shit, did I-”

“Do that again,” Dan urges, reaching back blindly in order to grab one of Phil’s thighs.

There’s a moment of hesitation, and then Phil is drawing back, sliding out of Dan before thrusting back in, slick and fast, the top of his thighs hitting Dan’s buttocks with a slap. Then, he does it a third time. Dan’s mouth falls open, pressing back into the sensation, rocking back into Phil’s movements.

“Shit…” Phil says, setting up a rhythm now. “I warn you, Dan, I’m pretty close…”

“Me- me too,” Dan manages to stutter around the rough, lustful moans that refuse to stop bubbling out of his chest. “Fucking… Christ, Phil, fuck me, yeah….”

“ _Je pourrais te baiser pour toujours, Dan_ ,” Phil garbles, obviously on the edge. His movements are erratic now, sloppier, with less control. “ _Tu es parfait, tu es parfait-_ ”

His own shout of ecstasy cuts him off, and Dan feels the warmth, the spasm, as Phil comes into him, pushing himself deeply as he spreads his chest against Dan’s back. He bites Dan’s shoulder, hips twitching; it’s hands down the hottest thing Dan has ever experienced. He thrusts himself against the mattress, desperate for friction.

Suddenly, Phil is easing out of him, and Dan is being flipped over. Phil’s tongue drags itself over his chest, down his stomach, and then a mouth is slipping over his straining erection, engulfing him entirely. It takes approximately three seconds before Dan is toppling into his climax, the force of it pushing an agonised scream from his throat. He’s sure he momentarily glimpses infinity, sizzling around him in the form of a neon, pulsating nebula.

When he crashes back down to earth, Phil is draped over him, his nose just below Dan’s ear, his arm slung across Dan’s chest. Both of their chests are heaving - their exhaustion the only sound in the silent room.

After a moment, Dan can hear a faint scrabbling against the closed bedroom door. Poor Buffy, he thinks absently. She must be so jealous that Dan is stealing all of her father’s attention.

Dan finds Phil’s hand and winds their fingers together, both their palms damp with exertion.

“As far as distractions from things we’re trying not to think about go,” Dan says to the ceiling. “That was pretty good.”

Phil lifts his head, looking affronted. “’Pretty good’?”

Dan laughs, breathless. “In this instance, ‘pretty good’ means the absolute best sex I’ve ever had, ever.”

Phil smiles, satisfied, and rests his head back on Dan’s shoulder, playing with his fingers. “That’s better.”

“Good to know that even if we get sacked, we’ll still be able to console ourselves with amazing sex, I guess,” Dan jokes, but he can feel it falls flat against Phil’s ears.

There’s a silence.

“You won’t get fired, Dan,” Phil says softly. He’s tracing up each of Dan’s fingers in turn.

“You think I’d stay working in a school that kicked out the only good teacher they’ve got?”

“Dan-”

“No, Phil, don’t,” Dan says firmly. “You’re the only reason that job is bearable. I couldn’t work there if I couldn’t see you every day. There’s no way I could be professional. I wouldn’t be able to smile at John, or have a coffee with him in the staffroom, knowing full well that he stole you away from me, for something so.... completely unfair.”

Phil’s fingers trickle up and down his arm. “I can’t make you do anything, or not do anything. But you should think carefully. I can get another job. It would be harder for you. You don’t have as much experience working in schools. We’d make it work, still, even if I do end up having to quit. We can see each other after work, all the time. It might not be so bad.”

Dan wriggles in Phil’s arms, turning so they’re laying face to face. “I don’t want to work where you’re not. That’s so sad.”

Phil reaches up to trace the curve of his face. “I know, gorgeous.” The tips of Dan’s ears burn, still not used to hearing the endearment. “I don’t either.  _Mais c’est la vie_.”

*

Phil is laying on his front, and Dan is appreciating the view. They’ve been on his bed for some time now, talking about nothing as the light pouring through Phil’s big windows fades into a softer, duller evening glow.

For what must be the hundredth time, Dan leans down to Phil’s left hip, and presses his mouth to the tattoo he can’t stop staring at. Just like every time, Phil’s breath hitches, like he can’t quite believe the sensation.

“It’s so much prettier than I thought it would be,” Dan confesses, making Phil giggle.

“What did you think it would be?”

“A ninja turtle? A portrait of Buffy’s face? I don’t know.”

“Buffy as in my dog, or Sarah Michelle Gellar?”

Dan considers this, laughing. “Either. Both.”

Phil laughs then as well, gazing at Dan over his shoulder. Dan’s fingers trace the Paris skyline once again, his face dreamy. “You really like it, don’t you?”

A light blush peppers Dan’s cheekbones, and he shrugs. “It’s pretty.” Phil looks curious, but says nothing. “When did you get it?”

All of a sudden, Phil’s expression grows a little colder. He turns from Dan, averting his gaze. “In Paris. When I lived there.”

Confused by the sudden change in atmosphere, Dan feels his curiosity perking up. “Oh,” he says, trying to sound casual. “On your own, or…”

Phil sighs, and he glances at Dan, conflicted. After a moment, he seems to relent. “No. Not alone.”

Dan nods, nonchalant. “Was it… with that guy you mentioned? Your ex?” The nod Phil gives him doesn’t come as much of a surprise, but it still winds a thick coil of jealousy around Dan’s chest, squeezing so tightly that he coughs. “Cool.” 

Seeing straight through his attempt at remaining calm and collected, Phil laughs, reaching for Dan’s hand. Dan lets him take it, feeling foolish. He has no right to be jealous of something that happened before he even knew Phil, he knows. It’s not like this guy, whoever he is, is still around.

Still, as Dan stares at the tattoo, he can’t help wondering how serious this past relationship must have been, or at least felt, for Phil to do something so permanent about it.

“I know what you’re thinking,” Phil tells him, rolling onto his back, rendering the tattoo invisible again. He tugs Dan towards him, until they’re laying next to each other, Dan nestled beneath Phil’s arm. “It seems crazy, that I tattooed myself over something that fell apart. I swear I’m not usually that reckless.”

“What happened?” Dan’s voice is small, and he detests it.

Phil sighs, the arm around Dan’s shoulder tightening. “I was young and stupid, basically. I thought I was in love.”

Dan’s hand places itself over Phil’s heart; for some reason, he suddenly feels terrified. Love? Phil was, potentially, in love with another man? The thought shouldn’t be surprising, as Phil is older, and has had a whole life without him. Still, the idea is difficult to comprehend.

He tries to picture Phil directing his sunny smile at another person - another, faceless man. He imagines the hand in his wound into someone else’s. He pictures Phil’s lips against this mystery person’s skin. His brain rejects the imaginings as they come, vehemently.

Who is this person that had such a hold on Phil, Dan wonders. 

Is he French? 

Did they speak to one another in a language Dan can’t grasp?

Did they wander the streets of Paris together, making shared memories that Dan will never be a part of?

_Did he love Phil back?_

Does he think of Phil, still, today? Does he pine after him, wondering where he is, and if he should swim the channel, turn up on Phil’s doorstep and whisk him away again?

“Dan? Are you okay?”

He nods, but even he can feel how insincere his answer is. Phil tilts his chin up with one finger, forcing Dan to meet his eye. He’s smiling gently; Dan watches, going a little cross-eyed as Phil leans in to kiss his nose.

“You don’t need to worry, Dan.” Something about the soft surety of Phil’s voice puts Dan instantly at ease. “He wasn’t very nice, in the end. It took me a while to realise it, I guess. I was so besotted. I was in Paris. I got swept up in the romanticism of being there, of the cute café dates, and holding his hand as we walked over padlocked bridges. I thought he was just as infatuated as I was. I didn’t question it when I told him I wanted a tattoo, to commemorate my time there, with him, and he didn’t want one too.”

Phil stops speaking, looking into the space behind Dan, lost in thought. There’s a sad, distant smile on his lips. Dan reaches up to stroke it with his fingers, making Phil refocus on his face.

He feels the smile stretch beneath the pad of his finger, watches the light flicker back into a warm glow behind Phil’s eyes. “It used to make me feel sad, whenever I caught a glimpse of it.”

“The tattoo?” Dan asks.

“Yeah. Too many tainted memories attached.”

“But it doesn’t make you sad anymore?”

Phil shakes his head, still smiling.

“Why not?”

“Because, Dan,” Phil tells him, their noses brushing. “I made new memories in Paris. Better ones. With you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Read the translation of the French here!:
> 
> http://danfanciesphil.tumblr.com/post/170343337560/translation-of-french-chapter-14
> 
> Check my tumblr post of this chapter to see a visual reference for Phil's tattoo! <3
> 
> http://danfanciesphil.tumblr.com/post/170343367800/lhistoire-fran%C3%A7aise-new-chapter


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “What’re you muttering?” Phil asks.
> 
> “Just praying to Jesus, or Allah, or Buddha, or whoever else is up there that you never, ever leave me, and that I can stay this happy, with you, forever.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for reading, commenting, and for your endless patience and support. I've loved writing this for you, I hope you all enjoyed reading it as much. A million bisous to you all. 
> 
> xxx

It was foolish of Dan, really, to have ever believed that sneaking in to his own house would ever be a viable strategy. In fact, Dan only manages to turn his key in the lock before he hears a shriek from inside, and the sound of feet hurtling down the stairs. **  
**

The door is pulled open before he can get his hand around the knob, and he’s pulled inside with considerable force, into the arms of his drama queen of a flatmate. Teddy stands just behind Tyler, watching with a smile as Dan is squeezed within an inch of his life.

“How could you do this to us, Daniel?” Tyler is demanding, shaking Dan in his embrace. “We thought you were  _dead_. You abandoned your dearest friends, your confidantes, all for a half-decent roll in the hay with some French floozie-”

“He’s not French,” Dan says into Tyler’s shoulder. “And-”

“No, I won’t hear it. Come into the lounge at once and tell me every last detail of what you’ve been doing since Sunday morning.”

Tyler releases Dan, only to grab him by the wrist and pull him towards the sitting room.

“Well I’m absolutely not going to tell you everything, so...”

Teddy slings a sympathetic arm around Dan’s shoulders, walking him over to the couch. “Don’t you think It’s best to spill the gory details now, Dan? You know as well as I do that he’ll only drag them out of you bit by bit anyway.”

Dan sighs, but allows Teddy and Tyler to pull him onto the sofa, fitting himself snugly between them.

“So, how many rumbles in the sack have there been thus far?” Tyler asks, diving straight into the deep end. “Twenty? Thirty?”

Dan splutters. “What? Don’t be ridiculous.”

“More?” Teddy asks, eyebrows lifting in genuine surprise.

“Gosh, and he’s a bit older, isn’t he? Kudos, Sexy Teacher,” Tyler says, exchanging an impressed glance with Teddy.

“Oh, for- we have not had sex thirty times!” Dan exclaims, already feeling drained by this conversation. “Why do you even want to know that, you pervs?” 

“Because we need to have a deep, in-depth, analytical break down of each one, so that we can properly assess this man’s attributes and decide whether he’s good enough for you.”

Dan stares at Tyler in bewilderment. “You never wanted to analyse my sexual escapades with Stephanie.”

Immediately, both Teddy and Tyler pull a face. “Don’t be vulgar, Daniel.”

“Tyler doesn’t care for all that heterosexual stuff,” Teddy explains, laughing. “But you have to admit this is exciting. Your first gay experience.”

“We feel like proud fathers,” Tyler sighs, leaning his head on Dan’s shoulders. “Now tell your daddies, Dan. Exactly how big-”

“Alright, that’s the end of this conversation,” Dan declares, standing up from his seat. “It’s eleven o’clock and I have,” Dan takes a deep breath in, grimacing. “A potentially horrible, long day at work tomorrow.”

“You have?” Tyler asks.

“What’s the issue?” Teddy asks.

“Oh, nothing really,” Dan says vaguely. “Me and Phil could lose our jobs, that’s all.”

“Phil and I,” Teddy corrects. Then, he seems to realise what Dan just said. “Wait, lose your jobs?!”

“Is that what all this drama and weeping has been about?” Tyler asks, mouth agape. “Dan, what-”

“It’s fine,” Dan says with a morose shrug. He honestly hasn’t the strength to think about this anymore. Apart from a few… minor interruptions, this job stuff has been all that he and Phil have spoken about today. “There’s a school policy against teacher relationships. But we’ve decided that that isn’t a good enough reason to be apart.” Dan shrugs. “So that’s good. But… it does mean one or both of us could lose our jobs, yeah.”

“What kind of ridiculous, dated school policy are you working under?” Tyler scoffs. “Can’t you protest this?”

“We have,” Dan says, shifting from foot to foot. “They said they’d consider our appeal. Well, Phil’s appeal. Tomorrow is the decision date.”

“Oh, darling,” Tyler says, standing to wrap his arms around Dan. “I had no idea. You must be going mad with worry.”

“Can I do anything to help?” Teddy asks, unusually sweet. He stands too, joining in the hug. It’s a little awkward, being on the inside of a Teddy-Tyler sandwich, but Dan is nothing if not used to it by now. “Maybe a cup of tea?”

“Good idea, Teds,” Tyler stage whispers over Dan’s head. “Break out the camomile.”

Dan laughs, a little sadly, but rather enjoying all the attention. “It’s okay guys, I just wanna go to bed.”

“Alright, then.” Tyler and Teddy break apart. Dan doesn’t miss the worried glance they exchange. “ _Bonne nuit_ , my love.”

“Try not to think about it too much, I know what you’re like.”

Dan nods at Teddy, managing a grim smile, and then heads towards his room. He can feel the two pairs of eyes following him, but he ignores them, trying to be as convincingly composed as possible, so they don’t worry.

As he gets ready for bed, Dan replays the last few hours he had with Phil before he was dropped home. A perfect, idyllic stretch of time, over far too soon. They’d just been talking, lounging on Phil’s bed, drinking tea and munching on leftover madeleines. In the comedown of the incredible sex they’d had earlier, they’d both fallen into a soppy, sweet mood, so there was a lot of cuddling, and more than a few sickening confessions of adoration.

“I have a crush on your dimples,” Phil had told him, conjuring them out of Dan’s cheeks instantly. 

Dan had laughed and blushed, but Phil had kissed them until it wasn’t funny anymore, it was just true, lovely, and sweet.

Dan gets into bed, his heart heavy. How is he supposed to be able to sleep, knowing that tomorrow holds the possibility of Phil being torn away from him? He supposes it’s not as dramatic as all that, and that no matter what the outcome of the school’s decision, Phil has assured him that they’ll still be together. But the thought of working without Phil in that school, where the teachers treat him like a servant boy, and the kids - barely five years below him in age - seem to giggle as he walks past them in the halls… it’s unpleasant, to say the least.

Phil brings life to that building. Without him it would be a regular, dull and colourless establishment, devoid of any distinguishing features, or palpable enjoyment for learning. Phil’s presence leaks out of that one classroom in which he teaches, and streams through the halls, infecting the students’ minds. He ignites inspiration in their curious young brains, elicits a genuine passion from them for the subjects he feels so strongly about.  

Rolling onto his side, Dan reaches for his phone, charging on his bedside table, and clicks Phil’s name.

 **Dan**  
I’m very lucky I met you.

He rolls onto his back again, sighing at the ceiling. He means that, no matter what else may happen.

His phone buzzes, making him smile, and he reaches for it in the dark. His pillows still echo with the faint smell of Phil’s cologne, and it’s giddying.

 **Phil**  
I think it was more like fate.

 **Dan**  
Sap.  <3

 **Phil**  
You started it  <3

Dan laughs, then puts his phone back on the table to his left. He’s just thinking about all the sleep he’s going to lose out on, when his door cracks open, and two familiar faces peer through into the gloom.

“Dan?”

“Are you still awake, darling?”

He tries to be annoyed, but he can’t fight the smile that inches onto his face. He sits up a little, cocking an eyebrow at his two flatmates. “What do you want?”

Having received confirmation of Dan’s consciousness, the door swings open, and Teddy and Tyler bowl through, jogging over and leaping onto Dan’s bed. Teddy at least has the decency to close the door behind himself.

“Hey, woah, what’re you- guys, I need to get some sleep-”

“Shh, love,” Tyler says, snuggling himself against Dan’s side. He wiggles underneath the duvet, as does Teddy, and they sling their arms across Dan’s middle, getting comfy. “We just thought you could use some company.”

“In case you start overthinking,” Teddy explains, yawning into Dan’s ear. “Just forget we’re here. Enjoy the cuddles.”

“I don’t mind if you pretend I’m Phil, but please refrain from grinding on me too much,” Tyler says. “Teddy gets awfully jealous about that kind of thing.”

Teddy aims a kick in Tyler’s direction, but catches Dan in the shin instead. “Ow!” Dan exclaims. “Guys. I’m touched, really, but I can’t actually move-”

“Good, because if you move I will end up on the floor,” Teddy interrupts. “Everyone just stay where they are.”

Dan sighs heavily, surrendering. Again, a traitorous smile creeps onto his face. Sure, these two might be an enormous pain in the backside most of the time, but he wouldn’t trade them, even so.

“Thanks, guys,” Dan mumbles.

Strangely, this bonkers plan of theirs seems to be working. Dan is distracted enough by the lack of movement available in his limbs that he feels sleepier already.

He shuts his eyes, focusing on the warmth of the arms criss-crossed over his stomach, the rise and fall of the chests on either side of him.

“You have washed these sheets since Phil slept over, right?” Tyler says into Dan’s ear.

“I haven’t been here, Ty,” Dan mutters back. “How could I have?”

“So we’re sleeping in all your sin?” Teddy asks.

“How kinky.”

Dan swats Tyler in the side. “Don’t say ‘kinky’ while you’re in my bed. That’s a forbidden word in this scenario.”

“How did Phil react, by the way?” Teddy asks, suspiciously casual.

“To what?”

“To seeing you in your fursuit?”

The next few minutes are packed with Teddy’s indignant shrieks as he finds himself on the floor, followed by his pleas to be let back into the bed. Dan doesn’t relent for a good few minutes. Out of principle. 

*

At break time, they’re scheduled to meet with the Principal of the school. Dan has never been to the Principal’s office. He has, in fact, never even met the man, though he’s heard an array of wild, conflicting stories - mostly from the students - about why he’s never around.

The most popular theory, particularly amongst the older students, is that the Principal is an undercover spy, using his position as head of the school as both a front, and as leverage to infiltrate a corrupt government, particularly in the department of education.

According to Phil, these rumours are perfectly viable. He’s an eccentric character, apparently, and difficult to read. Phil likes him, which says a lot to Dan, as he trusts Phil’s opinion far more than anyone else’s.

“Do you like him more than John?”

Phil frowns, deliberating over this question. “Difficult to say. I don’t know him as well as John.” Phil frowns, deep in thought. “I’ve been round to his house for a board game night before, actually. He’s a quirky character, kind of peculiar, but he’s definitely nice. Just a little bit intimidating, I guess.”

That conversation had taken place before the first bell, in Phil’s classroom. Dan has no lessons with Phil on Tuesdays, so he has to simply wait until break time to see him again.

They meet outside the Principal’s office, both surprised and unsurprised to find Jonah Frank and Matthew waiting on opposite ends of a bench outside it, their arms folded. Matthew has a black eye; Jonah has a bleeding knuckle.

“Jonah, Matthew,” Phil greets them, a smirk on his lips. “Been playfighting again?”

“Nothing playful about it, sir,” Matthew scoffs, scowling at Jonah. “He just suckered me out of nowhere.”

“Out of nowhere?” Dan asks, also fighting a smile. “Well, that’s peculiar behaviour, Jonah.”

Jonah smirks, shaking his head at Dan’s sarcasm. “He was mouthin’ off. He deserved it, and he knows it.”

Matthew rolls his eyes. “Since when am I not allowed to say what I want? It’s a free country.”

“Since what you say is purely stirrin’ up shit that doesn’t concern you,” Jonah says, his tone firm.

“You’re so damn sensitive ‘bout Lester and the new TA,” Matthew growls, his voice quieter, though not so quiet that Dan can’t hear. “How ‘bout you crawl out their asses for a sec and-”

“Alright, alright,” Phil says in his loud, authoritative tone. It makes Dan shudder a little, a reminder of the past few times he’s heard it, but Matthew and Jonah are too busy staring daggers at one another to notice, thank Heavens. “Let’s take a breather. Silence is golden, for now. We can let the Principal deal with your disagreement.”

“Is that why you’re here, sirs?” Jonah asks, forgetting Matthew. “To see the Principal?”

“We have a meeting with him, yes.”

Jonah nods, his brow creasing. “Cool. Let me know…” he casts a wary look at Matthew. “How it goes.”

“See you later on, boys,” Phil says, tactfully avoiding agreeing to Jonah’s request.

With that, Phil walks up to the door of the office and knocks thrice. Dan smooths out his shirt and straightens his tie, already so nervous he could pass out. He let Tyler pick out his outfit this morning; he wanted to look smart, professional.

As it turns out, this probably won’t matter very much, as Phil has chosen to wear a bright blue shirt covered in corgis, and a bowtie. It’s ridiculous, but somehow he pulls it off beautifully.

“Come in,” a voice calls from inside.

Phil glances at Dan, giving him a little smile. Dan sends one back, very glad that he doesn’t have to do this alone, at least.

“Good luck, sirs,” Jonah calls as Phil pushes the door open, and steps back to let Dan inside.

*

The Principal’s office is cream-coloured, and the large windows look out onto the parking lot. It’s on the second floor, so there’s a bird’s-eye view of the area where the school buses idle, along with the main entrance, out of which the students pour every day. Dan imagines it must be rather nice to see them all funnel through the doors after the last bell, safe in the knowledge that they’ve all made it, unscathed, through another school day under your supervision. 

There’s a persistent, barely comprehensible jabbering coming from the backwards-facing chair behind the large desk. The Principal seems to be speaking on the phone. Following Phil’s lead, Dan takes a seat in one of the large beanbags provided, and waits, flicking nervous little glances in Phil’s direction.

He takes the opportunity to look around the room, curious about this mysterious figurehead that he’s been working for all this time. There are a few plants in here - strange, exotic ones that looks as if they shouldn’t be able to survive in England, but that are thriving, somehow, in this office.

The walls hold some bizarre motivational posters, and a few paintings that follow a similar, abstract and colourful style. Dan peers at the name in the corner, but he can’t quite make out the squiggle. It looks something like ‘Linguini’.

Phil clears his throat, clearly getting impatient. Dan hears the Principal say something like, “ah, yes, well - got to run for now, we’ll catch up on the candy cane dilemma a little later.”

Understandably, this makes Dan’s brow crease in confusion.

“Yes, alrighty, TTFN, Nick.”

The chair swivels, rather dramatically, and the receiver is placed back in its holster. A young man sits in the Principal’s chair, a dazzling, white, straight-teeth smile on his face, framed by a shock of dark curls atop his head. His eyes are bright and blue - though a different shade to Phil’s entirely. He also, Dan notices, wears glasses.

It had been enough of a shock for Dan to accept the existence of Phil Lester, a rare beauty amongst the rather beaten-down teachers he’s known in his life, but for there to be two members of this school’s faculty that look like they could be modelling their own range of designer spectacles is a bit much to comprehend.

“Ah, hello, hello!” The man declares brightly, standing briefly from his chair. “Phil! So good to see you!” Phil rises from his beanbag, a little awkwardly, and grips the hand outstretched over the desk. It takes Dan a moment, but then he struggles up to do the same. “And Dan, is it? Mr Howell, sorry, I’m being awfully rude.”

“Dan’s fine,” Dan mutters, his stomach still churning.

“Excellent! I’m Principal Ligouri, but most of the staff call me PJ.”

Dan nods, managing a grim smile. He flops back down onto his beanbag, as does Phil, and Principal Ligouri takes his seat, straightening his thin, black tie.

“I’m ashamed of the fact it’s taken so long for us to meet, Dan!” PJ says, his voice loud and ringing with exuberance. If Dan had thought Phil was a large personality, he has nothing on PJ; this guy could fill twenty rooms with his sunny smile alone. Honestly, it’s a little much. “I usually make it a point to get to know my staff members.” He pretends to slap his own hand. “Shame on me!”

“Oh, it’s fine,” Dan assures him, the beanbag rustling as he fidgets. “I know you’re very busy.”

“No excuses!” PJ exclaims, ruffling his mop of hair in both hands. “Any-who, any-why, what brings you two here today? Ooh! And would you like a slurp of tea?”

PJ produces three mugs out of a seemingly invisible drawer in the desk, and deposits them on the table. Then, he spins around on the chair, wheeling over to a little tea-station behind him, which holds a kettle, a teapot, and a very tiny fridge.

All three of the mugs have the word ‘slurp’ written on them, alongside a colourful array of peculiar drawings. They look very similar to the framed paintings on the walls, Dan notes.

“Um,” Dan says, glancing at Phil, unsure. “I- I guess tea would be nice-”

“Peej, I think Dan and I would prefer just to get this over with,” Phil interrupts. 

PJ swivels on the chair to face him again, eyes wide. The kettle starts to roar.

“Get it over with?”

“Yeah,” Phil says, frowning. “This is a disciplinary meeting, after all.”

PJ slumps in his chair, frowning back at Phil. “I’m afraid you’ve lost me, Phil.”

“This meeting… you’re supposed to be telling me and Dan whether we’re allowed to stay on here.” Phil looks across at Dan, as if checking to see this is correct. Dan shrugs very slightly, just as bewildered as he is. “Because we don’t plan on breaking up, so…”

A second or two passes, and then PJ’s face melts into a relieved smile. “Oh, that? I thought I told John to clear all that nonsense up.”

Dan and Phil gawk at him in surprise, able only to watch in perplexed silence as PJ, humming away, turns back to his tea station to pour the water into the pot.

“Sorry,” Dan says, shaking his head. “I don’t think we understand. We thought we were here to receive the board’s decision about whether Phil will be having to quit or not.”

PJ barks a laugh, swivelling back towards them, teapot in hand. He looks practically maniacal, Dan thinks, holding the teapot in the air as he uses his long, spidery legs to scoot back over to the desk. Like the Mad Hatter, somehow having risen through the ranks until he’s in charge of an entire school. 

Dan looks over at Phil, mildly fearful of this thought. Perhaps PJ is a lunatic? Could it be that his lack of presence in this job has caused his staff to overlook his mental instability? Could this man have simply forgotten what this meeting is all about?

“Principal Ligouri,” Dan says, heart hammering. “This isn’t very funny to us - it’s actually caused us quite a lot of anxiety, so if you could just explain-”

“Right, Dan, of course.” PJ’s face drops into one of total sincerity so fast that Dan actually leans back into his beanbag, blown away. The teapot is placed carefully on the desk, the mugs pushed to the side. PJ leans towards them, fingers laced, a grim, apologetic smile on his handsome face. “And that is, of course, something that I am deeply apologetic about.”

PJ clears his throat, and pours the tea into the mugs, still the picture of seriousness.

“We will, of course, be providing appropriate compensation for the both of you in regards to all this-”

“Wait, wait, slow down.” Phil is sitting upright as much as he can in the beanbag, looking irritated. Dan watches him in silent awe, knowing that whatever is about to come out of his mouth is undoubtedly going to be deliciously firm and righteous. “PJ,” Phil sighs in frustration. “Am I correct in understanding that neither Dan nor I are about to be forced to leave our jobs?”

“Good grief, I wouldn’t hear of it!”

Phil’s mouth sets into a line. Dan can feel the bubble of something begin to inflate in his chest. It feels like it could blossom into relief, or possibly euphoria, but it’s too early to tell.

“And why, exactly,” Phil asks; his teeth sound like they’re gritted. “Have we been under the opposite impression for the last twenty-four hours?”

“So John didn’t catch you up to speed?” PJ asks; Dan and Phil both shake their heads. “I see,” PJ says. 

He turns to get the milk from the fridge and pours some into the mugs before speaking again. 

“Well, I’ll have a word with him about that. But let’s just suffice to say that the matter has been put to rest. There’s no need to concern yourselves with it anymore. You’re free to see one another romantically - though I would remind you to keep things professional during school hours, of course.” PJ grins, reaching for his mug of tea. “Well, as far as possible. Young love, and all that. I’m not a monster.”

“…I don’t understand,” Dan says quietly. “How can this all just be over? John said-”

“Yes, I am aware that John miscommunicated to you both,” PJ says, slurping down some tea. Mostly because Dan is very aware that his hands are empty and twitching with nerves, he reaches for one of the mugs PJ made him, hands it to Phil, and then reaches for the other. “I do wish to offer my sincere apologies for that. The thing is… John’s always been a bit of a stickler for the rules. I myself haven’t glanced at that ancient handbook for years. I’ve no idea why he wouldn’t think to ask me about the validity of those old guidelines before speaking to you.”

“So, the no teacher-relationships rule is just… being thrown out?” Phil asks, his big hands wrapped around the mug.

Dan slurps some tea of his own, eyes wide. This whole meeting has been so far from what he expected that he’s starting to wonder if he’s actually dreaming. The tea burns on his tongue as he sips it, and he winces in pain.

Probably not a dream, then.

“I’ll have to call a meeting and file some paperwork before I can officially abolish it,” PJ says, rolling his eyes as if the very idea is deathly boring. “But I already appealed to the board of education and they have no objections. Apparently most schools got rid of those no-teacher-relationship rules yonks ago.”

“It does seem… kind of old-fashioned,” Dan says, his voice small. 

The bubble in his chest is expanding, pushing up into his throat. He’s worried that it might pop, bursting out of him in a bout of hysterical laughter.

“Oh, it’s practically Edwardian,” PJ agrees. “What kind of evil troll-Principal would I be if I allowed my best teacher - and my best Teaching Assistant,” PJ winks at Dan, slurping some more tea. “To be forced out of here simply because they fell in love?”

Dan immediately flushes bright red, and he determinedly avoids Phil’s eye. Love is not something they’ve discussed yet. PJ, caught up in his own tale, seems not to notice.

“It’s actually all very romantic. Like a modern day fairytale. Dan’s the  _damoiseau_  in distress, Phil’s the brave Knight… who’s the evil dragon? Me, perhaps? John?” PJ stares out of the window, lost in his own musings. “Anyway, enough of that. Time for the happily ever after, I say!”

As PJ rambles on a little more, Dan just stares into his tea, unable to believe this is actually happening. He and Phil seem to be off the hook, completely. No more crying in the secret bathroom, no more sneaking around, guiltily hiding things from John and the kids. They get to be together, every day, without restrictions. Dan gets to walk past Phil’s classroom and see him, bright and vivacious, inspiring the students, whenever he wants.

And then later, after he’s finished work, Dan gets to wind their hands together, he gets to watch Phil pack away his desk and kiss him before he turns out the lights. He gets to listen to the kids tease them for being so sappy, climb into Phil’s little car, and be driven home.  

Belatedly, Dan feels a hand place itself into his, and he glances down at it, realising it’s Phil’s. He squeezes tightly, dumbstruck that he’s allowed.

“...so of course the compensation you’ll receive for this will be enough to satisfactorily put this absurd matter to rest once and for-”

“Compensation?” Dan looks up in surprise.

PJ nods slowly. “Yes… as I mentioned, you’ll both be offered a sum of money to compensate for the inconvenience.”

“How much?”

Phil lets out a small laugh at Dan’s question, making him blush. PJ’s mouth also twitches in amusement. Dan shrinks away from their responses; he’s never been offered so much as a tax reimbursement, let alone money for something he now finds out he hasn’t even done wrong. He can’t help but be a little eager to know the details - particularly as he’s currently scraping by on his meagre Teaching Assistant salary.

“The details will need to be finalised, but I will personally see to it that you are not disappointed,” PJ tells the two of them. He drains the last of his tea from the mug, letting out an ‘ahhh’ of satisfaction.

“PJ…” Phil says, looking almost as shocked by all of this as Dan is. “This is… I want to thank you for being so understanding. You could have- well, let’s just say if you were a different sort of person, this might not have gone as smoothly for us.”

“Oh, now, don’t be silly,” PJ says, batting his gratitude straight out of the air. “All I ask for is a wedding invitation, and a dedicated plaque in your forever home, attributing the success of your relationship to me, and me alone.”

Dan gawps at him, mouth falling open a little. Then PJ splutters, sending a hideous flush over Dan’s neck and face. Phil titters beside him, squeezing Dan’s hand.

“Oh, and one other thing,” PJ announces, glancing at the clock on the wall. Break time is almost over. “I received a rather lengthy email this morning from a Mr Jonah Frank. I presume he is a student of yours, Mr Lester?”

“Oh, God,” Dan says under his breath.

They’re so close now. Dan prays silently that whatever Jonah said - or more likely threatened - won’t ruin it for them at the last minute.

“He’s in mine and Dan’s Year Nine History class, yes,” Phil says, glancing at Dan, wary.

“I see,” PJ mutters, clicking on something on his computer. “Ah yes, here it is.”

“Peej, whatever he said, he’s just a… kind of troubled kid who has a favouritism for me, he’s honestly harmless-”

PJ glances up, eyebrows nestled near the mass of curls atop his forehead. “I think you’re misunderstanding me. Jonah sent through a very polite and honestly rather well-put together request for a - and I’m using his words - ‘reconsideration of my decision to suspend two members of the faculty’.”

Dan blinks in quiet shock, unable to summon a response.

“He did?” Phil asks, sounding just as baffled.

PJ nods, then turns his monitor for the two of them to see. On the screen is an email, professionally structured, with separate, indented paragraphs, and a ‘Dear’ at the beginning, along with a ‘yours sincerely’ at the end.

It could be any business email Dan’s ever seen, except for the telltale name at the bottom - Jonah Frank.

“A ‘petition’,” Phil reads, adjusting his glasses and squinting at the words. “What’s that about a petition?”

“Ah, yes,” PJ says with a wry smile. “Apparently this delightful young man took it upon himself to create a petition for the two of you to remain on the staff. He gathered over two hundred signatures, actually, it’s rather impressive. He seems to have emailed it to the whole school, though I’m not sure how he managed to find the email addresses of all the teachers.”

Probably not through legitimate means, Dan thinks to himself. “Two hundred people signed it?”

PJ nods brightly at them both. “It seems the two of you are rather popular. Of course, the petition turned out to be unnecessary, but had I been the sort of tyrant that would have sacked you both over this triviality, I do believe this petition of Jonah’s might have made me reconsider.”

“I feel like… I should mention that Jonah is waiting outside right now,” Phil says, smirking slightly. “He was sent to you for giving another student a black eye.”

PJ’s eyebrows lift, and he disguises what looks very much like a small chuckle as a cough into his fist. “I see. Well, in light of all this… perhaps you could mention to him on your way out that I’m… very busy. Too busy, in fact, to see him, and that he is free to go.”

“Got it,” Phil replies, smiling at PJ. “On that note, we should probably get out of your hair.”

Phil stands up then, and Dan follows suit, still in a daze. They’re really going to walk out of here scot free.

Phil reaches over to shake PJ’s hand, smiling warmly. When PJ reaches for Dan’s hand, he limply gives it up, still unsure of protocol.

“Lovely to see you Phil, as ever,” PJ says with a grin. “When’s our next board game night? We should set a date for it.” A light blush peppers his cheeks, and he glances at Dan. “With Dan too, of course. How rude of me.”

“Oh, um, thanks.”

“I mean it! I take Tokaido very seriously, Dan.”

Phil nods gravely. “It’s true.”

“Don’t worry, I’m a bit of a Mario Kart menace… so I know the feeling.”

Phil eyes him curiously, his smile practically screaming at Dan how much he wants to see this in action.

On their way out of the door, Dan hesitates, his eye catching once more on those paintings. He steps over to read the scribbled name at the bottom. Up close, it’s just about readable: Ligouri.

“Oh, so you did paint these,” Dan comments, smiling as he takes in the bright, beautiful shapes and colours. “They’re wonderful.”

“Well, thank you very much,” PJ tells him, walking over to where the paintings hang. “I’m only an amateur, mind. But I do love to experiment with acrylics in my spare time.”

“I prefer charcoal,” Dan says, not really thinking about it. He’s too caught up in the vivid monster-scape in front of him. “Or pencil.”

“Oh, you draw?” PJ turns to him in surprise. “Funny you should mention, I’ve been looking for someone to teach an after school art class once or twice a week. Would that interest you? Extra pay, obviously.”

Dan’s eyes widen in astonishment. “Really? I mean- wow, that sounds-”

PJ’s telephone trills into life then, cutting Dan off mid-sentence. PJ rolls his eyes and heads towards it. “Do excuse me, I need to take this, I imagine. People do get awfully worked up if they can’t get hold of the Principal. Send me an email to remind me about the art class, though. Lord knows I’ll only forget otherwise.” 

Dan nods, and PJ gives a small wave, picking up the receiver. 

“Ah, Nick! Calling back about the candy canes? Red and white. No, no, black would  _not_  be a good substitute-” 

His head spinning with ideas of striding after-hours through a classroom full of easels, ten or more eager faces turned to him, hanging on his word, Dan strolls out of the office through the door Phil is holding for him, and smiles.

*

There’s barely a second for Dan to catch his breath once the door shuts behind him before he’s being swept into Phil’s arms, and kissed, so hard it’s rather dizzying. He feels the bubble in his chest burst at last, sending tumbles of relieved, ecstatic laughter into Phil’s mouth. He hugs Phil fiercely, clinging to him tight.

Phil doesn’t stop, doesn’t let him breathe, he just kisses and kisses, lifting Dan a little off the floor as he holds tight around his middle.

“Uhhh, I’m guessin’ that went well then, sirs,” a voice sounds from nearby; Phil springs backwards, releasing Dan in a second, his cheeks an unusual shade of peony.

Jonah, still sat on the bench outside the office, is staring at determinedly at the floor, his eyes wide and horrified. Dan lifts a hand to his mouth; it’s been less than a minute into their new, public relationship and he and Phil have already traumatised a student.

“Jonah!” Phil exclaims, hurriedly wiping his mouth and smoothing his shirt down. “Um, sorry, I- we didn’t see you. Um, yes, it went… better than expected.”

Jonah looks up cautiously, as though he’s expecting a pornagraphic display. He sighs, relieved, when he finds this is not the case, and grins at his teacher.

“Awesome, so you’re stayin’ on, an’ that?”

“It would appear so, yes.”

Dan smiles at Phil, giddy with happiness as this is confirmed aloud for the first time. “Apparently a particularly determined student helped us out in that department.”

Phil laughs, nodding. “Yes, we… wanted to tell you how much we appreciate your effort to help, Jonah. It’s very sweet of you to get so involved, and to do what you did.”

The fourteen-year-old shrugs dismissively, but there’s a little smile gracing the corners of his mouth. “S’nothin’. Couldn’t be arsed with the idea of comin’ to this shitshow school every day without messin’ with you two dorks.”

“I’m not sure I should allow you to speak to us like that,” Phil says. lifting one eyebrow. “But... I think, on balance, I can probably let it slide this time.”

Jonah grins, winking at Phil. “Thanks, sir.”

“Oh, and Principal Ligouri wanted us to pass on a message to you,” Dan adds, glancing at Phil; his eyes widen, remembering. “He says that he’s sorry, but he’s awfully busy and can’t squeeze you in, so if you promise not to hit anyone else, you’re free to-”

“Hey, speaking of, where is Matthew?” Phil asks, looking around the vicinity.

“I finished ‘im off,” Jonah says casually, standing from the bench. “Stuffed him in those lockers over there.”

Jonah inclines his head to a nearby row of lockers; Dan’s eyes widen in alarm. “You… are you serious?”

There’s a moment of strained silence, wherein Dan wonders if he’s about to become world-famous as the Teaching Assistant that allowed a raging psychopath of a student to murder a classmate in cold blood and stuff his corpse into a locker. Then, Jonah laughs.

“Course I’m not serious, sir, fuckin’ hell.”

“Language, Jonah,” Phil warns, but he’s laughing too. Dan glares at them both, and rolls his eyes.

“I told ‘im I’d take the rap for the punch and sent him off,” Jonah says, grabbing his backpack, still laughing. “But looks like I don’t need to now, thanks to you, Mr Lester.” Jonah winks, already backing down the corridor. “See you losers next Monday!”

At that second, the bell rings, and Dan looks exasperatedly at Phil. They exchange a look of frustration, knowing that they’re now going to have to wait until lunchtime to talk about this.

“See you later,” Dan says, sighing. He darts forward to steal one last kiss from Phil’s mouth just before the corridor fills with students, on their way to class.

“Come find me in Classroom Nine at lunch!” Phil calls as Dan hurries away with the mob of teenagers.

He rolls his eyes at this instruction; as if he’d go anywhere else.

*

Fifteen minutes after the lunch bell, Dan is sitting on Phil’s desk, Phil on the chair in front of it, his chin on Dan’s knee. Dan is gazing down at him fondly, his heart bursting at the seams. He gets to stare at this face every day. It feels too good to be true.

“My mind is still reeling,” Phil admits. “This morning I practiced my ‘I quit’ speech to Buffy.”

Dan smirks. “And what did she think?”

“She gave some helpful comments.” Phil laughs. “Maintain eye contact, square my shoulders, pee on the desk to mark my territory…”

Dan nods seriously. “Well, she is a highly trained professional.”

“Oh, of course. That’s why I went to her for advice, obviously,” Phil says, smiling. 

His eyes are crinkling in the corners - Dan has come to recognise that this happens when he’s feeling particularly fond. 

Dan is just about to ask Phil to feed him more of the cookie he’d bought from the canteen a little while ago, but at that moment there’s a knock on the closed classroom door. It opens in the next moment, before either of them have a chance to respond.

It’s John, surprisingly, that pokes his head around the door. There’s no mistaking the bashful expression smeared all over his face. “Is this a bad time?” 

Phil lifts his head from Dan’s lap, sitting back in his chair. “No, you’re fine.”

Instinctually, Dan feels his hands curling into fists at the sight of John. It’s not fair, Dan knows, to be angry with the man, as he was only doing his job - but still, he is the reason Dan and Phil have been having such a difficult time recently. And to top it off, it was all totally unneccessary.

“I thought I should stop by to apologise to the two of you,” John says at once, stepping just inside the door. Dan’s fists unfurl at once. “If I’m not mistaken, I’ve made a rather large error in regards to how I dealt with the discovery of your romantic relationship, and that must have caused both of you a great deal of stress.”

Dan frowns, studying the whorls in the wood of Phil’s desk.

“Thank you,” Phil says, making Dan glance up. “We appreciate you saying that, John.”

“Y-yes, we do,” Dan agrees, nodding.

John’s shoulders sag in relief. “Good, because it really was never my intention to… disrupt this, um, blossoming relationship. In truth, I find you both very good company, and I’m happy you found each other this way.”

“I understand, John,” Phil tells him with a kind smile. Dan marvels at his ability to be so forgiving; he’s not sure he can do it so quickly. “You thought it was part of your job. It’s okay.”

John nods sadly, looking guilty, still. “I understand that this might affect our friendship from here on out, but I hope that perhaps with time you might come to forgive me-”

“Don’t be silly,” Phil interrupts, waving a hand through the air. “Let’s just put it all behind us. Peej said something about organising another board game night soon. You remember last time, don’t you? Should be fun to see PJ hurling Monopoly hotels into our drinks again.”

John laughs at this, apparently remembering. Dan’s eyes widen a little, not sure how to react to the information that PJ apparently gets violently competitive on these occasions.

“Sounds good,” John agrees, smiling gratefully at Phil. “If we can ever pin the mystery-man down, I’m in. And I suppose we have one more player to add?” John eyes Dan questioningly.

Dan nods, giving him a somewhat thin smile. Sue him, he’s not as much of an angel as Phil Lester. He can be salty about John’s actions for a little bit longer.

“Excellent,” John mumbles, turning to go. “Well, I apologise again. I hope you’ll be very happy together. And I know you’ll be professional about this, of course.”

The last bit is said as a mild warning, but Phil just chuckles, nodding. “Thanks, John. See you around.”

*

The next few days are a blissful, barely believable dream. Dan swans into school each morning and has a coffee made for him by his perfect boyfriend. They spend their break times laughing at stupid memes on their phones and planning fun activities for the classes they run together. 

Of course, the kids tease them mercilessly. They make kissing noises when their backs are turned and ask them inappropriate questions at every opportunity. They make Dan blush so hard that by the end of the lesson he often feels light-headed.

But it doesn’t matter in the slightest, because Phil is incredible at laughing it off, or swatting the jibes back at the kids with his effortlessly sharp wit.

“I’ve lost the board eraser,” Phil says one time to the Year Eight class. “Has anyone seen it?”

“Did you check Mr Howell’s pants, sir? Perhaps you dropped the eraser when you were in there earlier,” Shaima says, her eyes twinkling with mischief.

Dan immediately splutters into his hand, scandalised - she’s only thirteen!

“Thank you, Shaima,” Phil answers, one eyebrow raised in warning. “I’m not sure it would be entirely appropriate to reach into my TA’s pants right now, but perhaps I’ll check later.”

Shaima pulls a face at this, which seems to have been Phil’s desired effect, if his responding smirk is anything to go by. 

“In the meantime, perhaps you could spend a little less time trying to embarrass your teachers, and a instead focus on the relationships of the Tudor family.” Phil says with a harder tone. Shaima nods, a little guilty. “Don’t worry, their lives were far more sordid and gossip-worthy back then than mine and Mr Howell’s boring plans to cuddle on my sofa later and watch Adventure Time.”

Dan is incredibly happy. Despite wanting much the opposite, Dan resists the urge to go round Phil’s house after school for the remainder of the week. He feels a little like he might be straining Phil’s hospitality, and that he’s just too polite to say.

Besides, Teddy and Tyler have been insufferable in their complaints about him not spending any time with them anymore. To rectify this, he reluctantly agrees to a house night out to the pub on Friday, just the three of them.

Unfortunately, they run into their friends down at The Cat & Bear, including Stephanie, who is her usual glowery self. This time however, it doesn’t bother Dan in the same way. He spends much of the evening texting Phil as he nurses his single pint of beer. Teddy and Tyler drink more than enough for him, anyway. 

Before she leaves, Stephanie snaps her fingers in front of Dan’s face, looking annoyed. “Hey, rude much? You’ve been staring at your phone all evening, Dan. What, are we not entertaining enough for you tonight?”

“Oh, we have to let him off, Steph,” Teddy says, thankfully, before Dan can scrounge up a response. Teddy slings an arm around Dan’s shoulder. “He’s found a new squeeze.”

“Ooh, let me tell Phil we say hi!” Tyler exclaims, making grabby hands for Dan’s phone; luckily, being more or less sober, Dan manages to whip it out of his reach.

“I got it,” Dan assures him, tapping out a quick text to this effect.

“Um, Phil?” Stephanie repeats, her voice shrill and high. “As in… Philip? A boy?”

“Oh, gosh honey no,” Tyler says, placing a condescending hand on her forearm. “Phil Lester is a  _man_.”

Dan can’t help the splutter that comes out of his mouth; Stephanie just purses her lips, stands up and excuses herself from the table. Dan doesn’t see her again for the rest of the night.

“I always got the sense she might’ve been a bit homophobic,” Tyler says, wrinkling his nose. “Not overtly, but I could tell what she thought about us. Living in sin, as we are.”

“Yeah she told me bisexuality wasn’t real when I came out to her,” Dan shrugs, making the others blink in surprise. “I don’t actually think she’s a very nice person, come to think of it.”

His phone buzzes, and Tyler grabs hold of it at once.

“Ty, no! Give it back,” Dan cries, leaning over Teddy’s lap in an attempt to grab it.

Tyler just laughs, holding it out of reach. He clicks the text message that came through.

“From Phil - tell Tweedledum and Tweedledee I say hi back,” Tyler reads, then sucks in a scandalised gasp. “Wow, Phil. That is just uncalled for.”

Dan sniggers behind his hand, privately appreciating that joke.

“If we are any characters from Alice in Wonderland we are the Queen of Hearts and the... big dragon-y thing,” Teddy says, sounding indignant.

“Oh, yes, Helena Bonham Carter slays,” Tyler agrees. “I could totally see myself as her.”

Teddy places a hand on Tyler’s arm. “Oh, honey no, I meant you’d be the Jabberwocky.”

“As if I’d-”

The phone buzzes a second time, and Dan lunges for it, but misses. Tyler’s reflexes are surprisingly fast considering his level of inebriation.

“Phil again,” Tyler announces, gleeful. “He says, ‘glad you’re having fun,  _chaton_ , but i miss you and…’” Tyler’s eyes bulge, and he lets out a shocked little laugh. “Oh my. Well, that’s a little more risqué than I’d expect from a secondary school teacher.”

“Oh my God, give me my phone back,” Dan says, mortified. “I hate you so much.”

“What does it say?” Teddy asks eagerly, his eyes shining. Tyler tilts the phone for him to see, and Teddy descends into a fit of laughter. “Oh wow, you are one lucky boy, Daniel.”

“And he’s indulging your furry kink I see,  _chaton_ ,” Tyler adds, laughing.

This time, when Dan snatches for the phone, he manages to get ahold of it. He reads the message Phil sent him, flushing deeply, and pockets his phone again. He tries to ignore the laughter from the others, but ultimately can’t stand it.

“That’s it, I’m getting pissed,” Dan declares, standing to head for the bar.

*

 **Phil**  
r u ok? u havent texted back for  
a while

 **Dan**  
yesh

 **Dan**  
am drunk tho

 **Dan**  
fdl;’’;f,;

 **Dan**  
sory spelling is hard

 **Phil  
** lol i thought you were only gonna  
have one beer?

 **Dan**  
me too

 **Dan**  
cant b sober around T  & T

 **Phil**  
i understand

 **Phil**  
are u alright? are you still at  
the pub?

 **Dan**  
no im in bed now

 **Dan**  
wish u were here

 **Dan**  
bed is waaaaay better with u

 **Phil**  
haha i completely agree

 **Dan**  
stpehanie was at the pub  >:(

 **Dan**  
she was mean and rude

 **Dan**  
Teddy told her bout u and she was  
rly jel

 **Dan**  
cos ur so awesome and hot

 **Phil**  
hahahahaha. oh god. i hope Teddy described  
me a bit better than that.

 **Dan**  
she stormed off it was gr8

 **Dan**  
Tyler read out tht dirty message u sent me

 **Phil**  
omg hahahaha

 **Phil**  
i would say im sorry but its just hilarious

 **Dan**  
h8 u

 **Dan**  
miss u tho

 **Dan**  
come here i want to be cuddled

 **Dan**  
… or we could do those things u said in ur  
text

 **Dan**  
not fussed

 **Phil  
** wish i was there tbh

 **Phil**  
get some sleep cheri xxx

 **Phil**  
i’ll see you very soon  <3

 **Dan**  
sighhhh. kk. night night  <3

 **Phil**  
xxx

*

When Dan wakes up on Saturday morning, his head is pounding and he can taste nothing but an ashy, bitter residue coating his dry tongue. He groans into his pillow, trying to will himself back into the comforting embrace of unconsciousness.

He’s there, face buried in the pillow, for around ten minutes, when all of a sudden his door creaks open.

“Ugh, Tyler, Teddy, get out, it is entirely your fault that I currently feel like death,” Dan groans at the general room. “I do not feel like a chinwag right now.”

“Shame,” a voice decidedly not belonging to either of his flatmates, says from afar. “Guess I’ll just leave then.”

Dan turns around so fast that the room lurches, and he swallows a wash of bile threatening to spill out of his mouth. Phil lurks by the door, a large pizza box under one arm, smiling at him.

“Are you a mirage?” Dan asks him, uncomprehending. “How- who let you in?”

“A very grumpy looking Teddy,” Phil replies, sauntering over to the bed. “I tried to ask him how he was feeling but he just sort of grunted at me and shooed me towards your room.”

Phil places the pizza box down on Dan’s bedside table, shucks off his shoes and jacket, and crawls under the covers beside him. He scoops Dan into his arms, pulling him against his chest, making him sigh. This could be Heaven, Dan thinks. He smells vaguely of pizza, and he’s warm and soft.

“How’re you feeling?”

Phil presses a gentle kiss to the top of his head. Dan just groans in response, shaking his head to and fro.

Phil chuckles. “Too hungover for pizza and cuddles?”

“Never,” Dan replies immediately, tilting his face up to be kissed. Shockingly, Phil does kiss him, despite the fact Dan is sure he looks absolutely dreadful - not to mention the taste of his sour breath. “You’re too good to be true.”

Phil smiles warmly, and kisses him again. “True. I’m an amazing boyfriend. Now sit up and eat your pizza.”

The next few hours are spent in a wonderful, indulgent cocoon of bed, Netflix, pizza and lazy, sloppy making out. They get crumbs in Dan’s sheets, and their eyes begin to hurt from how many episodes of Buffy they get through, but it’s perfect in every way. Dan can’t remember a Saturday he’s enjoyed more than this for a long time.

“Have you thought about what you might do with your compensation payout yet?” Phil asks, nibbling on a leftover piece of pizza crust.

Dan sighs, remembering it. They were paid yesterday, a reasonable sum just as PJ promised, but Dan has a whole mountain-load of debts trailing after him, so he can’t enjoy it for long. It will be nice to take some of the pressure off his financial status, though.

“Oh, rent, student loan repayments, bills… the choice is simply overwhelming.”

Phil laughs sympathetically, snaking an arm around his shoulders. “Sorry, gorgeous.”

“What about you?” Dan asks, genuinely curious. He hadn’t really considered until now what Phil might want to invest in.

“Oh, I’ve spent mine,” Phil tells him.

Dan blinks. “Already?”

“Yep,” Phil replies with a smile. “I bought some tickets.”

“Wow,” Dan says. “Expensive tickets. What for?”

“Yeah, well. The Eurostar is expensive. Especially if you travel first class.”

Hungover and throbbing as it is, Dan’s brain takes a little while to catch up. “The Eurostar? Where are you going?”

“Paris,” Phil says, smirking. There’s a knowing glisten in his eye; Dan watches it with suspicion. “And not just me. You too.”

“What?”

“I booked us a weekend in Paris,” Phil says, grinning. “Not yet. For Valentine’s Day. I know it’s a couple of months away, but I thought it’s best to think ahead because I know I’ll want to spoil you, and-”

Dan leaps on him, their mouths connecting with such force that he thinks it’ll probably bruise them both, but he doesn’t care. He peppers Phil’s face with kisses, his face creasing with embarrassed laughter. Dan whispers his exclamations of utter, ecstatic joy, telling Phil he’s amazing and perfect and that Dan is, quite literally, the luckiest person in the entire universe.

“Dan, Dan, it’s okay, I mean it’s not that big of a- oh, shit, o-kay-”

He stops his protestation in favour of gasping out a few more curse words then, mostly because Dan’s hand is currently inserting itself into the front of his pants. 

Things accelerate rather quickly after that. Their clothes can’t be removed fast enough, and Phil seems particularly handsy today, which doesn’t help. To his credit, he works swiftly with the lube, locating it without being prompted in Dan’s bedside drawer, and working Dan open on his fingers with the practiced efficiency of a skilled artist.

Dan, for his part, just moans and gasps, clinging onto Phil in numerous ways, hands twisting into his hair, or skimming over his bare back, down to his hip so he can trace the faint bump of his tattoo.

As Phil pushes into him, Dan feels his body splitting apart, exploding into the billions of stars that scatter across the galaxy. He feels the rough, hot drag of Phil against his internal muscles, pressed in so deeply, so tightly, that it feels almost impossible to believe.

He hears his name on Phil’s lips as he comes, followed by the warm, pleasant rush of liquid shooting into his body, making his heart stutter. Phil’s hand gets him the rest of the way, along with the never-ending kisses pressed to his lips and neck.

When it’s over, and they’re laying, breathless and spent, on the mattress, Dan shuts his eyes, and sends a silent prayer. He’s not a religious person, but he feels he needs to cement this moment.

“What’re you muttering?” Phil asks.

“Just praying to Jesus, or Allah, or Buddha, or whoever else is up there that you never, ever leave me, and that I can stay this happy, with you, forever.”

“Dan,” Phil says, sounding a little choked. “That’s… Of course I won’t leave you. I…” he pauses, chewing his lip, conflicted. “I won’t leave you.”

As he decides what he wants to say, Dan’s heart speeds into overdrive. Butterflies, moths, dragonflies... they all burst into sudden, vivacious life in his pizza-filled stomach. He rolls onto his side to face Phil.

“I’ve been learning some more French,” Dan tells him slowly.

His heart is practically humming. He reaches for Phil’s hand and laces their fingers together.

“You have?” Phil asks, clearly unsure. “What have you learnt?”

Dan quirks a smile, then broadens it, knowing of Phil’s penchance for his dimple. Sure enough, Phil’s gaze falls to the place on his cheek that Dan knows it to be, a look of fondness passing over his expression.

Dan leans forwards, so their mouths brush, just slightly. “ _Je t’aime_.”

The reaction is instant. Phil stops breathing, Dan is sure of it. His chest stops inflating beneath Dan’s hands, and Dan can no longer feel the soft puffs of air against his mouth. Phil leans away just a little, enough that he can focus on Dan without going cross-eyed.

“Dan, do you… do you know what you just-”

“ _Oui_ ,” Dan says. “ _Je t’aime, Phil_.”

There’s a tremor in Phil’s lower lip, and his eyes glisten. Alarmed, Dan wonders if perhaps it’s too much, too soon, and he should never have-

Then Phil kisses him, hard and full of emotion, hands bracing his head. Dan falls into it happily, not surprised to feel the slight damp of Phil’s cheek, but a little more so to discover the ripple of goosebumps up and down the warm skin of his arms.

“I love you too, Dan,” Phil says against his mouth, smiling. “I love you very much. It feels a bit like I always have.”

A relieved, exalted grin pushes the dimples back into Dan’s cheeks, and he wraps himself in Phil once again, bathing in the sunlight of those glossy, shimmering words.

Paris, Dan muses as the tangy, sweet, familiar flavour of Phil’s essence floods his tastebuds, isn’t necessarily a place. Paris can be found in the tunnelling, azure eyes of your favourite person. It can be discovered lurking, vivacious and dazzling, beneath the wide, strong caress of a lover in the dead of night. It is, for Dan, a feeling, an emotion, a state of mind. It’s the glow of his heart when Phil smiles across the classroom. It’s the vibration of his soft hum as he bakes in his pretty kitchen. 

Paris, in Dan’s mind, is a low, rumbling surety of Phil’s love and adoration. It’s a reminder, every passing second, every breath Dan takes, that true love is a best friend, a partner, a home.

_**Fin.** _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you all so so much for reading! I hope you liked it, come tell me what you thought! 
> 
> danfanciesphil.tumblr.com
> 
> and while you're there, check out the artwork some of you have kindly made for the fic, along with the playlist i put together to keep those feels going!
> 
> danfanciesphil.tumblr.com/tagged/teacher_au_art
> 
> http://danfanciesphil.tumblr.com/post/170358536885/lhistoire-fran%C3%A7aise-fic-playlist
> 
> ****Update!!!*****
> 
> This fic now has an epilogue and a five years later chapter! To access these, follow the link at the bottom of the page where it says this work is part of a series.


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